Chronicles from Mandalore: No Heroes
by daennika
Summary: With three factions in dispute over Mandalore for "beskar", the Mandalorian metal, clans are itching for war. In a mess of loyalties, a Stormtrooper Officer is asked to hunt down the Skirata clan and the Jedi fugitives. OCs/Skirata/Null Clones/Jusik
1. Chapter 1

_For those who have missed out on the _Republic Commando_ series by Karen Traviss, here's what you should know about the events preceding this story: _

_The Republic turned into the Galactic Empire, the Jedi are hunted down everywhere and mostly dead, the clone troopers are being progressively replaced by non-cloned recruits, and the Death Watch clans of Mandalore are trying to overthrow the "New Mandalorians" with the help of the Empire. _

_The following story is set three years after the events of _Republic Commando: 501st_._

_Enjoy._

* * *

Tall grass was swept like water behind the dull brown speeder bikes that shot across the meadows and slowed to a stop in the clearing. Ori Dohagh stood there and watched the Scout Troopers dismount from their vehicles, the white of their armor stained with blades of green, splashes of dust and dirt. They saluted him and he saluted back, waiting for them to step closer.

"So this is it?"

He waved at the structures behind him: the recent ruins of a concrete building, a dozen rooms with no roof, with traces of ammunition, explosion burns, shattered glass...

"You're looking at the Skirata bastion, or what it used to be. Twenty men have fought for their lives here before we cornered them and they decided to take the coward's way out."

Walking into the scene he made sure the reconnaissance team would notice the dark, brown dried out puddles on the floor, as well as the bits and pieces of armor. A trained eye would recognize the pattern of a Mandalorian combat suit.

"We know some of them came back later on to pick up the helmets and whatever was left of their bodies. Seems that these savages take trophies from their own."

"Doesn't surprise me," cynically replied the one with the most dirt on his chest plate.

"For how long have you been after Skirata?" asked the other.

Ori took a breath, using the moment to muster a reply.

"It's been three years since I was deployed here, and the very first week our base was attacked. I lost many fine soldiers and friends. We found the first dissident outpost two clicks from here, but they kept moving. At some point we even suspected that the entire planet was harboring them."

The Scout slowly shook his squared helmet.

"Nothing has changed. We're still unsure of who's plotting against who. What with the Death Watch adding more confusion. At least, this is something we're sure about."

He pointed at the charred remains of the Mandalorian armor in a careless motion. Ori gave him an agreeing nod.

"Governor Demako will be satisfied with this," said the first Scout. "Thank you for the tour, Captain."

They returned outside to their speeders and gave him casual salutes before darting off toward the horizon. Ori watched them shrink into little black dots in the distance, waited until he could no longer hear the sound of the engines and walked back into the building. His work here was done, and he allowed himself to feel a little content about it all: twenty-five, promoted three times and able to use his time as he pleased - as long as it served Imperial interests. Relatively speaking.

He cautiously picked up the piece of armor and went to his own speeder bike to pack the worn suit in a duffle bag. With a blink of the eyes he switched his secure linked HUD interface within the visor of his helmet. It would lock outgoing transmissions into the Imperial networking comms. He watched the map display indicate a waypoint directing to the east, that was where he went.

It was a two-hour long ride, at the highest cruise speed of an Aratech speeder bike it amounted to at least five hundred kilometers away from the ruins of the fake Skirata bastion.

The real one was completely different. He arrived at the bottom of a valley, engulfed in a canyon, and entered a large hatch camouflaged with rocks, brambles and dirt.

There was nobody to greet him at the entrance, a wide dusty hangar with for only light source a few holes piercing through three meters of soil and stone. Ori left his speeder there and took the duffle bag, always apprehending a cave-in and hoping that this wasn't the day that a volcano would suddenly burst out in the vicinity. He made it to the second hatch door and it opened for him. They monitored him, or had planted untraceable tags on him for easy passage in their secret headquarters.

Ori was no traitor. It appeared as though he was but he was only doing what he thought was right, for the right people. He loved the Empire for the opportunity it had given him to become who he was now but he didn't love his commanders. Especially not this new Governor Demako who had assigned him on a permanent order to hunt down insurgents of all kinds. Demako was a bureaucrat, finding it more convenient to delegate responsibilities to experts on the field rather than making his own decisions based on acquired knowledge.

He kept walking until he got to the living parts of the base and it was generally just a workshop, where men and women would tinker on their weapons and vehicles. Someone finally came to him and he recognized the slender frame before his eyes met those of Aresu Kurn. Her black hair was short around her young face, but sleeked down to her jaw line to fit comfortably in a Korunnai were a rare sight in the galaxy now that their planet was swiped clean, Ori tried to remember that every time he caught sight of the dark-skinned girl.

"Slow day today," she said.

Ori removed his helmet and smiled.

"They all left you here, alone?"

"I can hold my own," she replied matter-of-factly. "Did it go well?"

"I managed to leave an impression. They didn't make a fuss of the details."

She went to a messy work table and reached for an auto-warming caf tank to pour him a cup. He accepted politely.

"I was told to tell you that there is a safe registered to you at the _usual place_ in Enceri."

"Who is it from?"

"Mereel, he didn't say anything else."

Ah, Mereel. The charming man of a million colors, the one who had punched him in the face, humiliated him and eventually saved his skin a couple of times. Ori respected someone who could do so much and still have style.

"Well," she said a little hesitant before shoving a bunch of tools and electronic parts away. "Make yourself at home."

He sat down on a wide bench, putting the pack of old armor at his feet but she took it and stored the whole thing into a closet. Ori said a silent goodbye to his duffel bag.

"It's clean here, usually."

"I don't care for other people's mess. Every time I try to do good they blame me for misplacing their things."

"Totally agree. People should clean up after themselves."

Aresu didn't smile. She'd squint her big dark eyes slightly and stare at people very still until they'd look away.

"I'd advise you not to show up in Keldabe for another week," he said then took a sip of the heated up caf. It was too sweet for his taste. "Maybe two, that would be time enough for the rookies to process the changes."

"Any more dark dealings with Death Watch and all of that goes to waste."

He looked at her from over his drink, surprised at how well she grasped the situation despite being cooped up most of the time. Obviously she was bored out of her mind, stuck in a cave, making food for clansmen who were busy keeping their families safe, but it was somewhat better than being homeless or captured by the enemy. Not all Jedi were able to run from Order 66, some of them needed to change their identity completely.

"Skirata's guys are containing that situation though, aren't they? If any word of you or Kad gets to more outsiders-"

"Yes, I know. It could be anyone trying to bring us down to gain control of everything. Apparently this clan is some kind of glue that keeps most decent clans together."

Ori didn't care to ask which ones, she wouldn't know and it wasn't his place to get involved in political Mandalorian business. It was good enough that they tolerated him near a Force-sensitive that he should have arrested or executed on sight – had he decided to obey his commanders. He was virtually a dead man himself.

He didn't finish the cup of caf, knowing what it would do to his finely tuned digestive schedule, but Aresu riveted her large eyes on it.

"Do you want food," she said as if ridding herself of the formal obligation of serving food to guests which was a Mandalorian custom.

Trying hard not to smile again, Ori simply shook his head and hoisted himself off the metallic bench before equipping his helmet. She stood in front of him and looked through his visor as if nothing had changed about his face. Everybody had different reactions toward the Stormtrooper mask as it was designed to induce fear.

"What would you tell your superiors when they find out you went off track?" she asked.

"If they ever find out you wouldn't have much time before your next move."

All it took was for the Imperial authorities to get a hold of his helmet, crackdown the biometric code for the alternate interface and they'd find out all about his side-project. He would then get interrogated and processed. Even for ranking officers, that meant execution without a trial.

"You should probably get going," Aresu said with a trace of regret in her perpetually cynical voice. "You'll tell me what's in that safe, okay? Unless it's credits, but I don't think it is."

It would have been a fun trip. Being seen in a public area with a fugitive at his side, even if she was disguised in Mandalorian armor, was a bad idea no matter how much the Empire could sympathize with the population.

"You could be right," Ori replied with a veiled smirk. "I heard some Jedi could have that _remote viewing_ power. The 'third eye' as they say."

Her face lightened up from hearing him take interest in the supernatural. It was nice to see her smile.

"I'll have to look into that," she answered earnestly, making that task seem like her new purpose in life.

In three years of tipping the Skiratas to help them avoid prison or worst, this was the most of any social interaction he would get with them. They were a big family of different people of many races, worlds and ages. But his shiny white armor could not fit in that picture. Aresu did not wear the _beskar'gam_, the full suit of laser-proof armor plates and helmet, she used simple skin-tight pants, boots and a short armored vest that revealed her arms and stomach. She didn't fit in either.

He made his way out, stretched his shoulders and adjusted the fit on the straps on the black pauldron piece around his neck. Storm armor wasn't suited for long rides at high speeds, and had he not used his rank to get customized plates he would have probably gotten into a few accidents. The hatch lifted up and the sunlight came in. He turned the engines on and gave a last look behind him as if saying goodbye to whoever was watching.


	2. Chapter 2

Sundown already in the little town of Enceri which, on the Mandalorian scale was a fairly populated commerce hub for farmers, self-produced goods from foodstuff to power cartridges, and of course some Mandalorian metal plates: _beskar_. People could get a suit done provided they had the right connections and were worthy of wearing the _mando_ uniform, because it represented the highest point of accomplishment for them. They were gregarious, untamed. The clans who lived around Enceri were especially inclined to reject the Imperial presence on their planet and their leader, the _Mand'alor_ Fenn Shysa, had bargained a deal with the previous governor that no garrison would be stationed near Enceri to preserve the social peace.

Stepping down from his speeder in a parking zone, Ori felt a knot form in his stomach as he looked at the see of colorful armored suits walking in the market street. Not one trace of white plastoid in sight, as expected. This meant that Demako didn't have the balls to stand up against Shysa on the occupation agreement and just left things in a stalemate. Ori opened the pack at the back of his bike and attached a second belt around his waist, and from it hung a piece of semi-rigid fabric that went down to knee-level. It was black with a gray lining. It had been gifted to him by Runa Zanim, Aresu's foster mother, the year he had made Captain. Ori had helped Runa's brother desert from a harsh Imperial life, stationed in the wrong place, too far from his family.

The "half skirt" was called _kama_ in the Mandalorian language, and it was worn traditionally for protection but also to signify rank and respect. He was told to wear it proudly when walking in friendly places like Enceri where people valued etiquette and moral standards.

So he walked down the busy street trying to ignore the T-visors that stared at him. They stared deep into his soul. What are you doing here? Who do you think you are? Are you making fun of us? Some Mandalorians laughed, others shook their heads and kept walking. The 'usual place' designated by Mereel was a small inn near the end of town.

When he got in the dim lobby, loud cacophonous music was blasting from the back room even though there was only a handful of patrons currently consuming drinks or food. They all turned away from their occupations to look at him, and almost immediately a group of heavily built Mandalorians arrived. Here we go.

They were three. Wore red, blue, yellow and even orange armor plating with different patterns. Some parts made no sense at all. _Hand-me-downs_, Ori deducted. He hadn't come to Enceri in the last season and these guys must've returned home from a long tour of hunting, or trading.

"You got some nerve, Whitey," said the one in the middle, obviously the tough guy of the group, forty-something. He had a mean scar barely missing his left eye. "There's no _beskar_ for you to steal here. So go back to your little boyscout camp and maybe get some colors before you make your show."

"And some balls," added the one with the mostly orange paint job.

Ori didn't have to deal with them, he was here to retrieve the package from the safe and leave. But he couldn't defect from his duty as an Imperial soldier, and not taking any shit was part of his training.

"I'll make sure to bring the crayons and play dough but for now," he stepped even closer to the scarred man, almost touching him, "get out of my way."

The thuggish _mando _had a movement of repulsion and instinctively poked an index against Ori's chestplate, about to spew something about personal space but he squirmed in pain. Ori grabbed his hand and pulled sharply, extending the arm to have access to the unarmored, vulnerable armpit area. He struck the man and locked his arm backward, pushed his head down and ended up pinning him to the ground with his knee cap against the bald head. The man shouted complaints in surprise and humiliation. Ori looked up to see two blaster barrels directed to his head.

"Tell your friends to put their weapons down," he growled, twisting the wrist a little harder.

"Okay, OKAY! Stop!" the pinned man begged, and Ori let the other two pick their friend up. Heaving, his face boiling with rage. "You made your point, trooper. What do you want here?"

Ori took a deep breath to regain composure. Even if he wore full body armor and a helmet, any lack of confidence, any sign of weakness was visible on the outside.

"Nothing to do with you. Don't make me repeat myself."

A gloved hand came poking one of the Mandalorians and they all turned to see who it was, interfering in their showdown. A rather tall female clad in red and gold armor, helmet on, stood there in silence. Bald one seemed to know her and immediately adjusted his behavior.

"Oh, we were just messing around with our new _friend_ here. Ain't that right?"

The others nodded with forced smiles.

"Back to your drinks, gentlemen," she said through her speaker, and all three of the men obediently went to the noise-filled back room.

Ori heard them mutter _Empire scum_ as they walked away but didn't make note of it. The Mandalorian woman turned her visor to him.

"And _you_... When will you learn to take that bucket off and show some humility?"

He tilted his head to one side and held his hands in front of him, staring down the owner of the inn. He remembered that her name was Tenja.

"You have your reasons to wear that _buyce_, and I have mine." He prided himself in correctly pronouncing words in _mando'a_. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Tenja."

"Save it, boy. Next time you get in trouble with my nephews I'm making you pick up the pieces."

With that she left and he pondered what she could have meant by that. He got to the counter and an old service droid greeted him with a beep. Ori handed it his ID chip. The droid turned and opened a small secured locker. He was handed a thin envelope with his ID back. The flimsi enveloped contained a small data stick that he could fit in a belt pouch and examine later. It was nearly time to head back to base for him.

On his walk back to his speeder he had to cut through the market place again. People wearing work aprons were wrapping up their displays, giving him scornful looks as he walked by. His eyes stopped on one shopkeeper that was sitting next to rows of wooden carvings. It was a child, ten or nine years old, maybe. He was bent over a datapad, idly playing a game or reading. Ori wasn't even close to him yet that he heard a giggle and another kid appeared behind the display, she wore a basic set of plates like those made for young warriors. She took an item and ran off, laughing her heart out. The shopkeeper yelled _Hey!_ and ran after her.

The young thief ran down the street, zig-zagging between armored pedestrians. The little curly red-haired girl shot a look over her shoulder which led her directly into Ori's legs. He grabbed her by the arms, seeing that she had taken a small sculpture of a four-legged animal known as Bordok.

"Let me go!" she squealed, trying to kick him in the shins.

Ori said nothing and waited for the shopkeeper to arrive, a weary expression on his face as if he had been doing this kind of thing for ages. His hair was buzzed short like a soldier.

"See what happens, Amali? When you don't pay for things, the bad guys will find you."

Releasing the girl, Ori gave the sculpture to the boy and she ran off, probably about to tell on him.

"Need a new job?" the kid asked cockily.

"You seem to have everything under control."

"Not really. Since Amali got her _beskar _on she won't stop taunting me. I'm wasting my time here."

"Girls can be cruel. Especially when they like you."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"What do you know about girls?"

Ori turned the question over in his mind and realized that his past experiences with females had been more imaginary than real. And talking to a younger man made him feel wise enough to give life lessons, but it was wishful thinking. Mandalorian kids matured sooner than most.

"How can I help you with your armor situation?" he said, deciding to change the subject.

"There's nothing anyone can do. The armor has to be earned, I must pass the trials when I turn twelve and then my _buir_ will give it to me."

"You carve figurines to pass the time, then?"

His round face turned grim.

"It's the only way I know to make credits. My father died last year and my mother is too busy on the farm to give me any training." He swatted the air with his hand. "Why am I even talking to you? The Empire doesn't care about us. All you want is our _beskar_."

He returned to his shop and retrieved the wooden animals and space ships from the shelves. And Ori felt the need to do something for this poor kid.

"How much for the Tauntaun?"

"I don't do business with the Empire," he replied without looking at him.

"My name is Ori Dohagh." He took a credit chip from his belt pouch. "And I'm buying this Tauntaun figure from you because I like smelly snow creatures."

The boy looked at the credits in his hand and his jaw dropped.

"You can take all of them for so much. And my shop."

Ori took the wooden biped and stared at it pensively. In his first biology class on Coruscant, his first assignment was to make a report about the Tauntaun. The sculpture was surprisingly accurate even though it was rough and poorly detailed.

"Spend it wisely," he said, pointing at the money.

"You're weird, you know that?"

He took it as a compliment. Back at the vehicle parking lot he saw a crowd of helmets and weapons gathered around his speeder bike. He recognized the orange paint job of the bald "nephew" from Tanja's inn. He had way more friends with him now, at least five. Ori hung his head and sighed.

"Alright." Placing the Tauntaun figurine on the sidewalk, he slung his blaster off from his back and stood ready for a second showdown. "Let's do this."

They stalked him in a circle, wielding metal rods, clubs, charged prodding sticks. Killing an Imperial officer was punishable at the highest sentence, so Ori knew he had nothing to lose but his pride.

And of course he didn't know why he thought that way. He was outnumbered - obviously - and overpowered by better trained, stronger and more ruthless fighters. Their plated fists made deep dents into his white plastoid armor and he sorely felt each punch down to his bones. Air smacked out of his lungs and he felt iron in his mouth. He was on the ground in five seconds, driven to a point where all he could do was curl up in fetal position and wait for it to be over. As he endured the treatment, his mind went to the time when, as a kid, he would get into fights in school because kids didn't know better. They didn't have the verbal tools to sort things out.

He thought about raising a hand to say stop. We can talk this over. I'm on your side. But his mouth was filled with blood and he had to spit it in a downward direction or else it would stain the inside of his visor, rendering him blind and messing up the instruments. A minute passed, and the rows of hits stopped. They knew he was alive, their scanners would have told him if otherwise. They were just waiting for him to move again.

Ori slowly got up, coughing up in his helmet and making a long stain of red on his chestplate. His instinct screamed _punctured lung_ but he refused to show any sign of panic. Strangely, they let him go to his speeder and he heard the nephew's voice in his back.

"Never show yourself here again, Imperial."

His brain went in survival mode. If after a few minutes he wasn't in a safe place, where he could pass out from the adrenaline crash without getting mauled again, then he could very well die, very soon. He managed to drive far enough from Enceri and found a farmstead. He stopped his speeder and got off of it, walked towards what looked like a barn or storage house which could work as a temporary shelter. The farm seemed empty, for now.

And there it was, the adrenaline crash. He distracted himself with the datachip left for him by Mereel. He didn't have his data reader with him, though.

Total darkness was replaced by a bright light, and he only registered a burning sensation in his chest. He was lying on a medical table and a face partially hidden behind a surgical mask looked down on him. The man had blue eyes and sandy blond hair, he recognized him.

"Welcome back, Ori. Relax, we're taking care of you."

He blinked in response, feeling a tube going down his throat, directing air into the functioning side of his lungs. Looking over to what was going on with his ribcage he tried to lift his head up but they had strapped him down to the table.

Bardan Jusik laid a hand on his forehead and he lost grasp of consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

He stepped barefooted on cold durasteel floors. The vibrations he felt indicated that he was off planet, in an unknown ship. A ship apparently large enough to have its own medical bay. Ori held his left side and got up from his bed, trying but failing to ignore the stinging from his scars and bruises. There was a bacta-patch around his chest. His body and face had marks of the fight despite the full suit of armor. He needed to find anyone on board so that he could return to Keldabe as soon as possible. He had lost track of time.

His armor was piled neatly next to his bed, cleaned up but still badly damaged from the beating. He found a few dents in his helmet, cuts and bends in the arm and thigh platings. His chestplate looked the worst with even a hole on the back section.

Ori walked slowly out of the medibay and lost himself in the narrow halls of a vessel he didn't know. It was definitely a cargo ship. He followed the sound of voices and found himself in a central lounge area. A man in his fifties, dark greying hair, golden armor, looked at him with a welcoming smile and the other people were easily recognizable. Runa Zanim, the enigmatic brunette in white and purple, she was wearing black plain clothes now. Her husband Bardan Jusik sat beside her on a couch. He stood as soon as he saw that Ori showed up.

"Put this on." He handed him a large cloak-like tunic and helped him dress up. "We couldn't risk treating you on the ground," he continued, answering Ori's worries. "Mij owns this ship."

The man in gold, Mij Gilamar, was a doctor, field surgeon, medicine man. The Skirata clan had used his services for as long as Ori had known since the first time he got enrolled in their cause.

"Thank you," he said, and winced. His throat was hoarse and it made him cough.

They all moved to have him sit comfortably among them.

"You should be in a more horizontal stance," said Gilamar, "luckily for you there's enough Force power around to have you at one hundred percent in no time."

Bardan, standing with his arms folded over his green armor, had a look of concern on his face. He was no more than ten years older than him, but Ori didn't like gazing him in the eye.

"Tenja told us what happened. She also told us it's not the first time you got yourself in trouble in Enceri. What are you thinking? Playing the martyr isn't going to help anyone."

Ori gulped down some water from a mug.

"As long as I keep reporting to base it won't be of any consequence for us."

The man clenched his jaw in withheld disapproval.

"We're taking you back to Keldabe," suddenly said Mij. "But please don't make us take detours like this again. We have families."

Obviously they did, but the specificity of Gilamar and Jusik's families put them in a more delicate situation than most of Mandalorians. They had both adopted Force-sensitive children, or worse: Padawans. And Jusik himself was a former Jedi with a price on his head.

"Your armor's a little battered," said Jusik, "You might want to think of a fairytale to tell your superiors. If you wish to do so."

Everyone understood that the Empire wouldn't threaten the status quo on Mandalore for just one beating on a mere Stormtrooper. The beskar exploitation deals were too important to throw off the table for such futilities. Nevertheless, Ori had plenty of excuses up his sleeve to justify his long absences.

"I'll get creative if they ask," he simply replied.

It was time for Ori to take his leave and be on the move. They didn't hold him back and as he left, he realized that the robe he wore was a Jedi's cloak. There were holes burned through the large sleeves. Their voices rose up again as he went back to the medical bay to retrieve his things, revert to his old Stormtrooper self and only speak when spoken to. He was grateful that they had saved him, obviously, but he was out of touch with Imperial Command. They would fail to reach him, deploy a search party, and repercussions would ensue.

Wearing his black body glove he sat on the bed, the data chip from Enceri twiddling between his fingers. He grabbed a medical diagnostics datapad and, as instructed by one of the other Null ARC clones Jaing, accessed its root system to read the chip. Untranslated lines of codes filled the screen.

"Hey."

He looked up and Runa was standing at the door frame. Nodding to let her in he flicked the power switch off the pad. Years ago he had chased after her. He had gone through great lengths to win her attention. In a way she was the reason why he was in this mess, but now that he got her close to him she would only ever be just a friend and he had stopped hoping for that to evolve. She had chosen to be with Jusik, to nobody's surprise.

"We don't blame you for what happened back there," she said bitterly. "If anything we're in your debt, because obviously this isn't what you had signed up for. It's just so much work to hash through, until we can say: Okay, all is well and we're done with this crap."

"But it never really ends, does it?"

She shook her head.

"If it was up to me I'd have you wearing a T-visor and fake your death in one of those staged ruins."

A flash of an image suddenly came to him: the sea of painted armor with the Mandalorian masks looking at him.

"You don't want me to help you, then?" he asked her. "You forget that I'm still free to choose who I take orders from. If getting beaten down to a pulp allows me to sleep at night, then I'm happily declining a possible transfer to Coruscant."

Runa raised her eyebrows and seemed to think it over.

"What would you have to do to get that transfer?"

Ori meshed his gloved fingers over his lap.

"Hand everyone over to Demako. All it takes is a comm signal from me and I'm out of here."

"Okay, I already knew that. I just didn't think you'd want to go to Coruscant."

He really didn't. Mandalore was his home now; he knew every inch of Keldabe, every road to all the towns and villages. He would never have to patrol through dense crowds, nobody would go through his pockets, no one would ask him directions to anywhere, and even the kids were well-behaved. Coruscant, on the other hand, would be the death of him.

"This is my planet, too." He knew he was being a little pushy. "Even if it's difficult I know I'm doing the right thing."

She took a caring expression that turned into an awkward mix of pain and misunderstanding. She came over to hug him gently, minding his wounds.

"For what it's worth, I consider you family," she said, her voice cracking. "We'll always have your back."

Like him she was fairly new to the Mandalorian culture, but she was soft and warm unlike all other young _mando'ade_ who took pride in their strength and resilience. She could tear down his defenses and shatter his will if he'd let her.

Once she was gone he finished putting on his armor, resuming back to his usual, detached state of mind. Sure, it hurt to feel alone. But at the end of the day his sense of purpose kept him going. He focused on the slight pain coming from his chest now and then. It was real, it kept him in the here-and-now instead of wallowing in self-pity.

He retrieved the datapad and switched it on. The stick was still being read and was now properly decoded for him to read: WRONG OUTPUT DEVICE. INSERT IN CORRECT DATA READER. Ori sighed in his helmet. It was going to be a long day.

The Imperial base was at its lowest in terms of activity at this hour of the morning when he stood at attention in front of his superior in chief. Governor Demako arrived, his perfectly pressed uniform falling straight over his slim chest, face pinched in a scornful expression as he laid eyes on Ori's armor.

"At ease, Captain."

"Governor."

"Care to explain to me what you were doing all night?"

"Sir, I'd rather not."

It was time to cut the bullshit, Ori believed. They would just assume that it was collateral damage from wandering too close to the enemy lines which was partly true, anyway.

"You may not consider your work to be gratifying, Captain," insidiously continued Demako, "but you might want to hear my proposition."

They walked together within the complex of elevators and dark hallways.

"With all due respect, sir, I have everything I need right now."

"Apparently, you don't." Demako eyed him up and down.

They finally got into the Governor's office. A large room in the underground. He opened up a closet, revealing a set of Stormtrooper armor. It looked similar to his own, plain, glossy white plating, this time without a dent in it. If it was in the governor's office instead of the barracks it surely had something more to it. Demako picked up the helmet and handed it to him. Ori's heart skipped a beat: he couldn't get his helmet off, not in such close quarters with his superior. He'd notice the extra wiring, the layer over the lens that supported his secondary HUD. He took the new helmet anyway and inspected it.

"It's heavy," he noted.

"Well? Try it on!"

He cautiously flipped the bucket over and lifted part of the black rubber seal around the edges. The inside plating was of a silver color. Trained eyes would recognize that it wasn't just durasteel.

"Sir. How many of these have we got?" he asked.

"This is our first prototype," Demako answered in an impatient tone. "I was expecting a little more appreciation from you, Captain."

"This is _beskar_." Ori stared at the face of the helmet. Only Mandalorian warriors who had passed the trials were deemed worth of wearing armor made from Mandalorian metal. "Who made this?"

"We did, of course. Were you thinking that some local would beat it against an anvil and get this good a result?"

Ori took a deep breath and walked towards the rest of the suit, feeling the weight of each piece as he lifted the sleeve of the body glove that kept it together. This is was the product of Death Watch collaborations, and the reason why Mandalorians needed a way to end it. Lots of them were being enrolled to work in _beskar_ mines already.

He was allowed to return to his quarters to equip and adjust his new gear before heading out again for an assignment. Once a week Ori would lead routine inspections of the town with a team of trainees. He used the little downtime to check the bacta padding around his chest, making sure it was going to hold for another eight hours. After he used the refreshers, ate from canned rations and slept for twenty minutes Ori left his ten square meter room wearing a full set of perfectly white, shiny, laser-proof armor.


	4. Chapter 4

His team of rookies were standing around in a hangar, talking quietly to each other until one of them spotted Ori and they all snapped at attention.

"At ease."

He stood in front of them and checked his datapad. All four of them were fresh out of Carida, recruited from diverse locations in the former Republic systems. His spreadsheet told him that they all passed with top grades and that one of them was allergic to warra nuts. No _uj_ cake for that guy.

"I'm Captain Dohagh and I'll be your tour guide for the week. By the end of this training you will be familiar with the local businesses, the language and behavior codes..." He interrupted himself, looking at them one by one."You will not interfere with civilian activities. Under my supervision your job is limited to observing. If something is brought up to you in any way, report it to me. By no means should you deal with Mandalorians yourselves."

It felt pointless. These young men only wanted to get out in the field and see the outside of a training camp, for a change. In a few weeks, they would move on to a different system and his teachings would be canceled by another tutor. Ori bit the inside of his cheeks and just went on with his duty.

Before taking a transport out of base he made sure he had his alternate HUD operating in background. Even if he wasn't available to respond he still needed to be open to messages from his unofficial friends to be able to help - within the limits of his authorized movements on patrol.

Of course none of that double-agent work was possible with a flock of subalterns in his back. Midday was approaching eventually and they got to witness a rush of locals going to a diner in one of the busier streets of the capital. It was time for them to get a taste of the local grub. Standing several paces away from a long line of armored customers, the four privates chatted amongst each other in voices drowned in static. One of them looked intently towards a group of Mandalorians coming their way.

Ori emerged from the diner, holding a bag of warm meals with one arm, and tried to get his squad walking again before the distance from the mob was a little too short to avoid them.

"Well well, well." A dark voice from one of the Mando's. He wore green armor. "Look who broke out the shiny whiteys today."

"Freshmen," added another, chuckling. "You guys look lost."

A share of the group went to join the queue at the diner while a handful stayed to haze the Imperials. Ori recognized one of them; dark suit with grey and gold armor plates, customized helmet shape with decorative sigils on it.

"Gentlemen. Is there something I can do for you?" Ori snapped, glancing at the one lad carrying a concussion rifle in his back.

The man in green armor tilted his helmet to the side signifying scorn towards him.

"You could send these kids back to where they came."

Ori faced him directly, keeping a respectful yet trusting distance.

"No one else wants to look after them." He motioned at his bag of food. "This will keep them in line for a while."

They chuckled, mockingly perhaps, but they were more civilized than the group of thugs from Enceri. Ori smiled. Mandalorian food was known to be particularly dense.

"Welcome to Mandalore," said the man in green to the cadets. "Keep your _shebs_ out of our way, and you might make it alive."

Carefully watching the rookies, Ori noticed one of them furtively holding the butt of his E-11 carbine. The Mando with the conc rifle seemed to notice as well. He shifted his stance and folded his arms across his red chest plate. With a wave of the hand Ori had his troopers revise their postures. The discomfort of his bacta padding reminded him of his recent lessons in diplomacy.

"They will learn soon enough," he told the Mandalorians.

"Too bad _you_ won't be there when these newbies start acting on their own," said the one with the ornate armor. "Consider yourself lucky we're even talking."

Technically, people weren't allowed to file a complaint about the Imperial troops because there was no authority established to take care of that matter. As a civilian it was impossible to tell one Stormtrooper from another with the lack of insignia or name tag. No identification meant no tracking. As bad as it could get, Ori was to stand by his fellow soldiers.

"You're right," he replied. "We're not supposed to have it easy since this planet requires... special treatment. Of course, we have orders but that doesn't mean we can't open up to a different look on things."

He was aware of his squad staring at him now which took pressure off from the on-going confrontation.

The green-clad Mandalorian shook his head skeptically.

"You're naive if you truly believe that. Whoever instructed you to lead these squads has done a great job, gotta hand it to him. But you're not fooling me. The Republic failed to dominate us when it was _nice _to us."

"Also," added the one with the concussion rifle, "if you were looking for insurgents then shaking your carbine around will get you to find just that."

They spoke in the manner of a father would to his son while teaching him to behave in school.

"I think we've got a clear picture of where we stand on that subject," Ori said with a nod.

They all went their separate ways after nothing was left to be said. He brought the rookies to the starport where a security detachment had a mess hall to share with them. In friendly territory, the Stormtroopers were then free to remove their helmets in order to eat and get some fresh air. The meals Ori had gotten for them was a mix of stew and other protein-filled cakes.

He bit down on a spicy meat roll. The consistency was tough to handle but it beat the tasteless Empire-issued rations. His squad had been silent since their "meet and greet" with the locals but their resentment was palpable. They might want to send in a report about his methods or even criticize his loyalty towards the Empire - if they had the guts.

"Do you submit yourself to everything people tell you?" asked a young, fair-haired one.

"I gave you an example to follow if you don't want _this_ happening to you everyday." Ori pointed a finger to his own face, mentioning the red marks on his forehead and cheekbones. He was ready to ignore the insubordination for now. "You think you're pretty smart, don't you, Private? Then you'll need to use that brain of yours. Keep your mind open or you could get your skull _cracked_ open."

He wasn't going to lecture them any further. The best way to learn was with trial-and-error, but at least he'd showed them the guidelines. Other captains would have just started a firefight to assert their power, resulting in something catastrophic and probably losing the entire squad. Bringing them back to base without a scratch was one of his skills that kept him on active duty despite the shady activities.

The troops enjoyed a recess in the starport area, chatting and relaxing as much as they could with their uniforms on. With his unmodified armor Ori found it hard to sit for a long time, so he decided to take a stroll near the entrance, playing door guard while speeders flew by at slow speed, and T-visors glared at him condescendingly. He regretted not mounting a chip-reader into his new helmet to save precious time and analyse the content of Mereel's data. There was no way he'd be using his Empire-issued datapad to do that kind of work.

He observed a nearby Mandalorian in black and yellow. She stood on the opposite side of the entrance - it was obviously a female, judging by her hips - as if waiting for something. He noticed that she was avoiding to look in his direction which either meant that she didn't care about the Empire, or that she had something to be worried about.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said and approached her. "May I see your identification, please?"

Lifting a black visor up to him he counted five long seconds before she complied. Now looking at her close he recognized part of a cryptic sigil on her breast plate.

"As you wish," she replied.

The ID card showed a twenty-seven year-old human female with black hair and green eyes. Onara Jeban. Nothing was stated as her profession and she was qualified to pilot a starfighter class ship.

"Thank you." He handed her the card back. "What is your business here?"

"What's _yours_?" she retorted. "I see so much of you Imps around, what am I supposed to expect?"

"Guaranteed safety against malevolent acts." Somehow Ori couldn't repress a smile while saying that.

"Well I don't see me trying to bomb a starport on my homeworld, soldier."

"You'd be surprised at what we've found so far, ma'am."

"Right," she said, all sarcasm. "Shouldn't you be worried about your own security around here? After all, you're the ones stepping on-"

She went silent, obviously realizing how suspicious she was sounding. Ori lifted an eyebrow and tilted his helmet to mime his curiosity.

"Your concern is much appreciated," he told her in a reassuring tone.

"And you're a weird Stormtrooper," she said, folding her arms in front of her.

Ori pointed at her clan marks and asked. "I've seen these symbols before. Jeban clan?"

"You saw my ID," she shrugged. "Yes. Dietra Jeban is my father and I'll expect you to leave my family alone. We've no business with the Death Watch or the others."

"Are you saying that the Jebans are independent?"

The woman directed her visor to him sideways.

"Many clans refuse to meddle with politics."

"But everyone has to pick a side eventually."

He was consciously baiting her, which was part of his job for Imperial Intelligence. Most of the groups that claimed to be independent were usually hiding something. And those that were genuinely neutral had little control over the ties occurring on a personal level.

"I don't believe that's true," she said, carefully picking her words. "There's always a third option."

Ori began wondering how his life would be like if he decided to quit it all to work on a farm, maybe get a wife somewhere in the countryside, raise a kid or two... His thoughts drifted back to the young boy from the market in Enceri. _I don't do business with Imperials_, he had told him. No, that third option was a selfish one, completely removed from the greater reality of the world.

"That doesn't explain why you're here by yourself, without any justification."

She got fidgety and took a step back.

"I'm familiar with profiling, and let me tell you that you're not very good at it."

"Maybe I want to give you a friendly warning," he said tentatively.

"And maybe I'll take that as a favor," she replied cockily.

"Good," he retorted.

The silence that followed was one second too long for comfort, and he grew aware of the risk of becoming too familiar with a woman so he departed after a sharp nod. It was time to check on his squad. His mind was making speculations now, sizing the benefits of befriending someone who was, like himself, caught between two currents. Or so he believed.

They neared the end of their tour of Keldabe with the review of the mercenary hotspots: bars, inns, trader shops. There were a lot of people wearing the Death Watch symbol on their outfits now, as compared to three years ago when Ori had just arrived on Mandalore. Those who were against them and the Empire, Fenn Shysa's Mandalorian Protectors, had retreated to underground status. They wore no distinctive signs, however. The sun had gone down and it was difficult to tell one Mandalorian apart for the untrained eye, and when they walked close to a noisy bar a loud bang and laughter caught their attention.

Ori asked for two of the rookies to stay at the entrance and he got into the dark lounge. Making his way between armored by-standers he saw a person lying on the floor, helmet off, and clutching his belly while someone stood over him. The red, spiked logo of the Death Watch was on either of their chest plates. Everyone noticed the Stormtroopers when they got in. Ori ignored them and kneeled over the incapacitated man. He couldn't see any apparent injury. No one was going to ask for help, it wasn't part of their tough attitude.

"Can someone tell me what happened?" Ori asked, parting the man's eyelids to check for a response.

The other man wore grayish-brown armor and reached for a hip holster. Weapons clicked, it was Ori's rookie squad ready to blast him away, and the rest of the men in the bar reacting to the Stormtroopers.

"Calm down," said the inebriated man, "I was only going to explain. He asked me to test an impulse gun on him... It was a stupid bet."

"He needs medical attention," Ori said. "Sir, can you hear me?"

The injured man tried to get up, but Ori held his shoulder down. They didn't need any complications with a case of internal bleeding.

"I can take myself to the med center," he moaned and coughed.

Ori heard one of his boys calling a medevac on the comms. The bartender arrived with a folded stretcher.

"We can take care of it," he said, as if it wasn't the first time he was doing this.

"No, sir," said another trooper, one hand up. "We got this under control."

The barkeeper smiled and shrugged, seeming rather pleased as he left. They waited at least ten minutes before the Imperial medical team arrived, time during which they were offered a soft local drink but Ori was determined to remain anonymous. So he couldn't remove his helmet to enjoy the refreshment. When it was over the crowd dispersed and he was able to collect a statement from the bartender and the shooter in case the victim filed a complaint. Procedures mattered, especially with unpredictable scum that could be found in the Death Watch.

When he exited the bar a lot of Mandalorians would stop in their stride to look at him and the privates but one didn't walk away. Ori caught himself smiling as the black and yellow armor walked up to him.

"Good job in there, Sergeant," said Onara Jeban.

"Captain," he corrected. "And thank you. I aim to please."

"Well, Captain, I hope that someday you find a place that truly needs your help."

"That sounds like an invitation."

Someone appeared behind Jeban, another woman wearing blue armor this time, and sharing the same clan markings.

"_Cyar'ika._"

It was the affectionate term used between loved ones in _mando'a_.

"Maybe in another life," Onara told him, and went inside the bar with her partner that clung to her waist.

"Saucy," a Stormtrooper said, watching the women disappear.

Ori turned to his trainee, containing a sigh of disappointment.

"They're quite liberal with their relationships," he explained. "Best not to get involved with any of the locals. The backfire is not manageable."

"With all due respect, Captain, I think they're just good friends. Or very close sisters who share lots of things..."

"Trooper, you're talking shit."

"Just keeping an open mind, sir."

Back to base - home, or whatever it represented for him - Ori was able to change his bandages and get some actual work done about Mereel's surprise package. Using a discardable datapad he got the analysis to run. Within a minute he obtained a name, and a face that represented his new target. He chuckled to himself. Tomorrow would be a good day.


	5. Chapter 5

Pinning down Death Watch agent Joral Tirron in his _beskar_ refinery was one thing, but getting an operation running to arrest him was a whole other. Ori stood in the factory's staff break room with basically no solid guarantee to even get close to Tirron since he had no warrant from the local governor – in this case, Demako – and no back-up.

The tall man fully dressed in mercenary armor entered after a good half hour during which Ori couldn't have sat down without asking for someone to pull him up again. Tirron sported the T-visored helmet worn by all members of the Mandalorians, but also by the majority of the Death Watch. The black and silver paint of his kit made him look strangely elegant for his profession. Arms and slave dealer.

"Hah, I see you're liking your new uniform," he shot at Ori, removing his helmet to reveal the rugged face of a battle-worn fifty year-old. "You're the new sheriff in town I keep hearing about, right? About time you showed up."

Ori, caught off guard, removed his own helmet and tried to keep a calm expression on his face.

"You're not exactly the easiest man to track down."

He followed Tirron into his office, a room like the first one with more clutter and a desk that didn't leave much space to actually work at it.

"You Imps think you have it all figured out," he sighed. There was a chair with a box of flimsi files on it, Tirron used it to prop his left foot while he sat on the table. "What do you want?"

Ori went for his datapad. He noted Tirron's eyes following his hand as it brushed too close to his SE-14r blaster. He'd left the E-11 at the barracks but showing up unarmed was out of the question.

"We _Imps_ want our allies where we can find them... Just in case." He showed him the small touch-screen that displayed a series of faces from the missing persons list in Keldabe. "I believe some of these look familiar to you."

Skeptically, Tirron grabbed the pad, extracted a pair of spectacles from a belt pouch and mounted them on his nose. He looked more friendly in a strange way all of the sudden.

"Some clan names ring a bell, but what do you want me to say, Captain? Half of the people on this planet are related to each other."

"So you won't mind if I take a tour of your facilities?"

The man handed back his datapad and opened a drawer across his desk. He found a set of keys, the old kind that needed to be inserted and twisted, then he stood up, glaring him down defiantly.

"With pleasure."

Ori tried his best to ignore the despising tone of voice, the overly contempt attitude and the fact that none of the other Death Watch guards in the factory were showing their faces. In fact, the only people who didn't wear armor were the factory workers. Foraging mechanics, smelters, blacksmiths, and finally the armorers. All of them from various places in the galaxy, of different humanoid species – there was even a Rodian in there – men, women in plain clothes that did very little to hide their weak underfed bodies. Ori wanted to look away when they stared warily at him, some talked amongst each other. Others were too tired to pay attention.

"Like what you see?" Tirron climbed up a flight of metallic stairs. A masked mercenary guard let them walk passed him on the catwalk, carelessly holding a shotgun slugthrower across his shoulder. "Half of these were probably insurgents when we recruited them. Now they could all be insurgents for all I care. They're here doing some good and that's where we want them. Don't we, Captain?"

Ori abstained from commenting as he monitored the mapping software that recorded his every step, looking for every turn and any exit point he might need to find on short notice. He was way under-equipped to handle any sort of hostilities here, even with his new armorthere was no point in acting like a hero.

As Tirron led him towards an enclosed room he caught sight of the armor manufacturing line. Shiny silver plates of _beskar_ pressed and shaped by machines he'd never seen before. Ori recognized the Stormtrooper breastplate, even without the white coat of paint. It almost looked too easy but he assumed that was part of the secret _mando'a_ technique for smelting alloy.

"I suppose you wouldn't mind that I have a chat with your armorers?" he casually asked, then stepped in before Tirron into another office.

"Too much chafing?" the mercenary retorted mockingly.

He removed his helmet and looked through the wide window pane, they had a partial view of the factory lines.

"Exactly. We're not all clones, some of us will want to be able to sit down."

Tirron mulled the thought over. There wasn't much room for improvisation, more Death Watch men were coming in the small room, battered outfits and weapons dangling from holsters and slings. Ori looked at his handheld again, zeroing on the Mandalorian worker he needed to find.

"Ah, our customer," A Death Watch merc took his helmet off to reveal a dark-skinned face with markings tattooed on his temples. "What's this? More orders?"

"Our shiny white friend needs to investigate our employees," Tirron replied, not without a smile of contempt. "Seemingly there's a very real threat to overthrow the regime."

They all stared at Ori. He suddenly felt very young and defenseless, facing these grizzled space gangsters. His training however, and force of habit made him carry on like he'd be dealing with petty thieves instead. He had to get down there and find his target.

"I'll be brief," he stated. "The sooner I find my suspect the quicker you'll be going about your business."

They agreed to have him wander on the floors of the workshops without an escort. Guards watched him from the catwalks and from above in the surveillance room. The people doing detail jobs on the armor plates were all male, middle-aged and Human. Silence settled between the sound of hydraulic tools and hammers as Ori walked by. He checked the picture on the datapad, thinking he had the name and file wrong, then surprisingly he saw a young face across a workbench. The individual couldn't have been older than thirty, though with stains of dirt and grease it was hard to tell. He slid a wide plate of iron over a high-density metal cutter, sending sparks all over, paying attention to nothing but his work.

Ori approached with caution, observing the precise trim following the straightest line he'd seen a man produce into such a resistant piece of armor. There wasn't even a template on the thing.

"Ithan Redd?"

There was no mistake, it was him, but Ori needed him and others to notice that he wasn't there as a tourist. The young man lifted steel blue eyes up from his bench and stopped the machine.

"Yes," he said._ Fierfek_, he really was young, perhaps younger than himself. Ori wondered if he'd been making _beskar_ his entire life or if the Death Watch had power-trained him for it.

"I'm Lieutenant Ori Dohagh." He showed the boy his handheld. "Someone is looking for you."

The screen showed the single picture of a woman with a military buzz cut, about fifty years of age, red and gold Mandalorian garb for outfit. Ithan reached for it but too late. Ori needed to conceal the image quickly before a guard could see it, too. He expected to see hope, even sadness on the young man's face but there was nothing. Not even anger.

"What happened to her?" he asked.

Ori raised an eyebrow at his very neutral tone. Did Tenja forget to mention some sort of mental condition of his? He decided to ignore it and get the job done.

"I'm meeting her in an hour in Enceri," he replied. "You're coming with me."

With a raise of an eyebrow Ithan simply let his tools and materials on the table, wiped his hands on his apron and obediently preceded him on their way out. Ori placed his helmet back on his head, and sighed with disbelief. So, what if Tenja had omitted details about her adopted son's behavior, it was still someone from the inside and he could help with the covert operation against the Death Watch plan to corrupt Mandalore. He only hoped that whatever trauma he'd endured wouldn't affect his memory.

Aboard the two-seated landspeeder he had brought for the occasion, Ori risked a glance at his passenger.

"Am I free now?" asked the young man. He was suspicious but also seemed eager to return home.

"Not sure about that yet," replied Ori. "Depends on what your clan decides to do about the Death Watch, and I need to earn their trust, for now. Be prepared to see that place again very soon."

The ride out to Enceri was a silent one, despite Ori's attempts to make conversation. After all, a slave couldn't open up so easily to someone wearing the enemy's uniform. Who was he kidding? Ori _was_ the enemy. He practically occupied the planet and his function helped send more people into those work camps. He drove faster towards the small city in order to catch some daylight. The pale lad probably needed it, too.

Parking the speeder in the lot outside the market street drew a lot of T-visored glances his way. Ori wasted no time; a Stormtrooper officer leading what looked like an obvious prisoner was calling for a bigger throw down than the troubles he'd had a week ago at the same location. He hoped with all his guts that Ithan would follow his steps without handcuffs or being pushed around. Jaw clenched and eyes forward, it was exactly what Ithan did.

As they walked towards Tenja's inn they met a small boy pushing a cart with shelves and wooden boxes. The kid stopped and looked at Ori. It was the kid with the animal figures.

"Hey," he called out, hesitant.

Ori wished he wasn't the only Stormtrooper ever patrolling Enceri on his own, and wished he could pretend that people were mistaking him with someone else.

"How's it going?" he replied to the boy, keeping Ithan in his field of view.

The Mandalorian kid left his cart on the side of the road and walked up to him. The last time Ori had seen him he had gotten beat up badly soon after. Hopefully that wouldn't turn into a habit.

"Here." The kid handed out a wooden figure he took from his vest pocket. Ori took it and recognized the Tauntaun that he had purchased for way more than what it was worth. "Didn't think you'd be back so soon."

"Thanks..."

"Kalei. That's my name. Tenja lets me store my things at the inn at night."

"Does she? We were just heading there."

Tenja resided at the inn where she also did most of her day-to-day business with her clan. Being the matriarchal figure in that part of town helped, but he didn't know what connection there was between her and the boy.

"You're not gonna make me leave town, are you?" defensively asked Kalei.

"Now why would I do that?"

"If it weren't for your help I couldn't make the rent this month."

"Why don't you ask Tenja if she can hire you?"

"Not everything is that easy."

They reached the place and he found no trouble on his way in, this time. The Mandalorian woman met them in the lobby.

"_Su cuy_ _Kal'ika._" She gave him a key card and he disappeared into a small hallway. Tenja then proceeded to hug her son. "I'm so sorry."

He looked her in the eye and pinched in lips in contained sadness. Two of her other children were there as well.

"You made it," said one of them, though Ori couldn't tell who was who.

"Go upstairs and clean up," said Tenja to her strange son, voice tight. "Ori, you're welcome to stay for dinner."

It was an order, Ori knew better than to refuse hospitality from a Mandalorian. Also he understood that _dinner_ in this case meant _briefing_.

Tenja grabbed the helmet from his hands and inspected it pensively.

"Such a sad looking bucket for a soldier of an empire. You still believe you can do good from that side of the fence?"

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" He believed on the other hand, that more people would have tried to kill him if he was of no use for anyone on Mandalore so far. "That's thanks to you."

"You freed my son from slavery when no one else would," she replied, matter-of-factly, and tossed the helmet back at him. "Just saying that you picked the wrong uniform."

She watched her two other children leave towards the entrance lobby.

"Your kids are awfully quiet," he remarked. "Is there something I should know?"

"They don't trust you," she said after a pause.

"No kidding."

"When you were just doing a cop's job, for a moment we thought of you as somewhat useful. Now we're waiting for you to make a decision."

He could very well imagine a hidden ultimatum behind that statement and he smiled cockily at the woman. Whatever challenges lied ahead, he was ready to take them on. They could always kill him if they weren't happy with him.

About an hour later, the inn was closed and he found himself surrounded with _mando'ade_, armored men and women from either the Redd and the Skirata clans. In his white Stormtrooper dress outfit he couldn't stand out more if he had been the only Bantha in a herd of Dewbacks. Luckily for him, Bardan and Runa also attended the meeting, bringing Aresu with them. They all wore their trademark _beskar'gam_ which was the norm if one wanted to look inconspicuous. They kept him company before dinner, which Ori was grateful for.

"It's kind of a party in your honor," Runa said, smiling as she nursed a glass of ale. "Everybody wants to know you now, since you can get in and out of every Death Watch building if you want to."

"Someone cut her off!" A tall red and grey armored middle-aged clone of Jango Fett interjected, himself with an alcoholic cocktail in his hands. Ori could tell them apart now; this was Fi. "Women only speak to get us into trouble, am I right?"

"How would I know?" replied Ori. "The shiny-whitey suit isn't popular with the ladies."

As he said so he noticed some voices raising around one corner of the diner, shouting _Oya_! and giving praise to one particular _mando'ad_. Ori stretched his neck to see a Mandalorian bucket being lifted off a pale young man. Ithan, who had just trimmed his hair down to his scalp, was showered with affectionate pats and hand-to-elbow clasps. This time, he was smiling. The armor was his true outfit, not the slave's apron. And his own _beskar _was of a subtle mix of black, green and copper ornaments.

"I think that's the one we're celebrating," spoke Jusik, his face showing a certain amount of skepticism, shared by Aresu. "These people will never forget what you are," he continued. "In the end, it's all about the family."

Ori stared at him, perplexed, trying to guess what kind of troubles he'd had when joining the Skiratas. A former Jedi surely didn't find his place right away in a band of mercenaries. Runa looked at him, too, and she took her husband's hand, almost furtively as if public displays of affection were forbidden in their culture. Which, he knew, was not the case.

When the conversations settled Ithan walked across the room to reach Ori's group and instantly locked eyes with him. It was a little awkward.

"I realize I didn't thank you for taking me home," he said with a pause. "Thank you."

Brow raised, Ori accepted his hand shake. "You're welcome."

They all watched him quietly for a couple of long seconds.

"If you want me to modify your armor one day all you need to do is ask."

Ori wasn't sure he could. A twenty year-old was making _beskar_ armor and his family had let him rot in a Death Watch factory for years. There was something wrong with that picture.

"As long as it stays in the standard issued white."

"You have no intentions to leave the Empire, then?"

It was as direct a question as could be, everyone was curious to know his plans. Ori sucked air in to think of a simple answer.

"I'll stay where I am as long as I'm useful."

He caught Aresu's brown eyes driven on Ithan, then towards him.

"What if Death Watch finds out that Ithan isn't at your base, but here instead? You'll have to go rogue eventually."

"Yeah, I'm not letting that happen."

She squinted at him. "They could be everywhere. We don't know half of the people in this room."

"I've been away for so long that even I have my doubts," interjected Ithan, "but it's my clan and if they're loyal to me they'll have to trust you, too."

"Pardon my callousness," Jusik asked, "but for how long have you been part of the Redd?"

"Five years. I had no life of my own until then, Tenja helped me gain more humanity, so to speak."

"Ah."

A shade of a smirk could be seen on Ithan's face.

"Speak to her some time. Now if you'd all excuse me, I need to rest. I assume I will see you tomorrow, Captain."

When Ithan was out of earshot, Ori felt a nudge in the back of his neck. Bardan leaned in slightly.

"Weird kid." He followed him from the corner of his eyes.

"It's almost like," Aresu began, but muted herself with an index finger across her lips. "Never mind."

Runa nodded, deep in thought.

"He seems to be doing well considering what he'd just gone through."

"He's _mando_, after all." Fi gave a short sigh. "Maybe Tenja hit him too hard on the head for all we know."

Ori always tried to ignore third-party commentaries to favor his own judgment of the individuals he encountered, however strange or suspicious they may be. The evening went on with a dinner of spicy soup and dumplings. They all gathered around a table to eat and share drinks. Tenja was a quiet leader; her guests were given most of the attention and she'd only speak to give advice or make suggestions. Despite her thuggish appearance she was a real diplomat. She listened attentively when Ori described the structure of the factory, when someone wanted to interrupt him she would shut them up with a wave. He then briefed them on the guards and their firepower.

"Looks like they have more concerns about people getting out than coming in," said Fi.

"We have to treat this as a hostage situation," concluded Eledan, one of Tenja's taller sons. He had decorative tattoos on either side of his shaven skull. "As long as we still have people inside, we can't risk a full blown attack on the Death Watch."

"But how do we secure them all?" It was a Zabrak from another clan which name Ori couldn't recall. "Using the same mole twice would be kind of pushing it."

So he was a _mole_ now. Ori stared the Mandalorian Zabrak down with what he hoped was disapproval on his face.

"We're not sending back Ori," Tenja replied. "First we're going to make sure they're not looking for Ithan which won't be easy. Secondly, there has got to be a flaw or defect in the plant that could be used against them. Ori, do you have enough pull with the Governor to get the operation to shut down?"

It was simply the best plan he could imagine, but impossible.

"It would have to be a huge flaw," he said, then nodded. "I'll need some time to come up with an expertise group and tangible evidence to launch an investigation."

"Ithan could sabotage the armor designs," added someone to his left. It was Daidra, the oldest of Tenja's daughters. Her long auburn hair flowed freely over her dark green _beskar_. "He knows how everything works in there already, and he won't get caught since he's the best armorer they could ever have."

Ori spotted movement across the table.

"You'd send your brother back in?" Jusik asked, almost accusingly.

Eledan Redd seemed to jump at his sister's rescue.

"He's aware that we'll never get peace of mind until all of the _mando'ade_ are free from the Death Watch. Whatever happens to him from now will be for a greater purpose."

Ori would have applauded the speech, but he'd have done so if it had come out of Ithan's own mouth. Even if the kid was off-putting, he felt slightly angered by the ease with which his family was ready to sacrifice him. Was he even aware of that decision? Even Tenja was awkwardly silent. He felt relieved that Jusik was taking the matter in his hands.

"You're dismissing the off-chance that in case of a manufacturing problem the Empire would decide to terminate the whole of the armory workers, then? With their funds they could hire anyone else to take over, now that they have the templates."

"Well," Daidra crossed her arms on the table, "we're not waiting for the natural reserves of _beskar_ to run out, are we?"

Jusik completely ignored the sarcasm. "What happened with the original plan to eliminate Joral Tirron?"

"The game has changed," said Eledan. "With Tirron dead, Demako will get his hands everywhere in our business. At least with guys like Tirron we can still live in our own homes."

Fi put his fists on the table and stared him down with contempt. "You mean the so-called neutral clans with your big farms and all your connections."

"Let's keep our options clear," Tenja finally stepped in. "Whoever keeps us from our goal will be eliminated, no exceptions. I say it's time we set our political views aside and think of what is best for our people. For now, we have friends and family being held against their will in labor camps. I think we have enough intel to actually step in and take them back ourselves."

"You know that this would only declare war on the Death Watch," retorted Daidra.

"_Udesii_, _ad'ika._" Tenja stood from her seat and looked at everyone at the table. "If a war is declared we won't be the ones fighting it. Fenn Shysa and his boys will have to deal with the consequences of their sloppy actions. Let's sleep over it, tomorrow will be a new day and Captain Dohagh will have work to do. Those who have a long road ahead are welcome to stay the night. Meeting adjourned."

They reluctantly left the table, minus some who were still finishing their bowl of soup, chatting in hushed tones. For his part, Ori needed to confer with his friends. He found Bardan talking quietly to his wife while Aresu was sorting through a carry-all pack on the floor.

"It's his decision," Bardan was saying, "whether or not he loses his cover this operation would put you further away from Devik. The best you can do is stay out of it."

Ori, catching the gist of what was being said, cleared his throat and they both turned to face him.

"I have schematics of the factory on my tracker, if any of you are thinking of sleeping over we could work on a joint operation. Also, I could use the help of a mind-reader while I chat with Ithan."

He watched a troubled Jusik steering his eyes away from him as Runa mustered a reply.

"You know I'm counting on you to keep me in contact with my brother from time to time," she said warily. "With you out of the picture it would be difficult... We would all miss you."

"So you disapprove of my involvement against the Death Watch?"

"I'm saying that you should remain safe, and be the wiser person. It's a war between Mandalorians and them, the Empire can stay where it is."

Once again he was put in a position to question where he really belonged. He looked over at Jusik to study his reaction.

"Is that your opinion as well?"

The former Jedi propped his hands on his hips, earnest.

"Well, it depends on how far you actually want to go with us. If you really want the Journeyman Protectors to rule Mandalore again, then by all means go ahead and fight the Death Watch. Wear the armor, defect from the Empire. Because there _will_ be a day when all Imperials will have to choose between leaving or destroying us all. The longer you keep this uniform around us, the harder it will be to remain friends. You'll have to make a decision. No half measures."

"Either way, we will help you the best we can," he added after a pause, as if to let his words sink in. He turned to Runa. "I'll stay the night, you and Aresu can go home-"

"_I'm_ staying." The young woman spoke before he could finish.

Jusik slowly blinked in a lack of surprise, silently interrogating Aresu.

"You don't have to worry about me," she sighed and said in a dull tone of voice, "I'm a grown-up, and if you don't trust me then ask Ori to play chaperon."

"Are you asking me to let you handle this yourself?" he retorted with a hint of a smile.

It had appeared to Ori that Aresu was well aware of the entanglements in the situation, and she was no stranger to him after all. He didn't doubt her abilities to see through deceptions but he cared about her impact on the Redd clan. She wasn't exactly _mando_ yet, let alone a Skirata. Jusik had done such a great job at protecting her from potential bounty hunters that no one really knew who she was.

"You know I can take care of myself," she told her foster parents. She brushed a lock of black hair away from her lips and gave Runa a warm hug.

Jusik nodded, satisfied at the sight of Aresu's confidence.

"We're picking you up in the morning," he said, grabbing his helmet from a nearby table. "And Ori... No funny business."

Whatever Jusik had meant by that last statement, he was sure it had something to do with the fact that Aresu was a little too attractive a young female to be left alone among male strangers. He wondered if Jusik would ever let the girl live her own life someday if he kept protecting her from the outside.

When Jusik and Runa were gone, Ori went back in the lounge area with Aresu. He checked his wrist chrono.

"I need to be back to my base in the morning, this doesn't leave us much time to extract whatever I can from Ithan tonight. Somehow I'm not sure we should trust his siblings to do that."

Daidra Redd walked towards them, her eyes insisting on Aresu before setting on Ori.

"Always a pleasure to share our roof with newcomers," she said with a voice just sarcastic enough to remain polite. "The vacant rooms are on the third floor, there is clean bedding in the storage closet upstairs. Make yourselves at home."

Ori noted her smirk of contempt. Aresu stood with her shoulders up and called out to her.

"We still have a lot of work to do and sleeping is probably out of the question, so you might want to take care of the room service yourself until we actually need it."

"Woah." Ori extended an arm in front of her, failing to cut short of her speech since Daidra was coming back for a retort. He stepped forward and decided to change the subject. "Forgive the kid, she's a little awkward with people she doesn't know. Can you please get Ithan to talk with us for a moment? We need to corroborate our stories for my report."

The two females dueled with stares. If Aresu didn't back down he wasn't sure it would be a situation he could defuse.

"Very well," answered Daidra. Obviously she was better at controlling her emotions than Aresu. "Keep your pet on a tight leash."

She left the same instant. Ori faced his new side-kick and took a deep breath.

"Where did that come from? Want me to call your father so he can pick you up right now?"

Aresu raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you hear the way she spoke to us?"

"She was testing you, maybe people here aren't as coddling and friendly as the Skiratas. You need to be careful, kid."

"Do not call me that, Ori."

He backed up slightly and felt himself back in training again, giving a pep-talk to a hard-headed recruit. But he couldn't shout to her face, order push-ups or tell her what a worthless maggot she was without him. Aresu was no soldier, he didn't really know how he was supposed to treat her.

They were allowed to use the manager's office to sit down with Ithan. He had ridden himself of his Mandalorian attire and wore plain clothing designed for indoor activities. Ori wouldn't imagine himself wearing them out of bed. Despite his long day he didn't seem sleepy or tired. He sat behind the desk with his hands crossed over the counter, waiting to be interrogated.

"I need you to review this data." Ori placed a chip with his map recordings right in front of Ithan, and remained standing. "You can add notes and modifications to what you see. But first I need you to answer some questions."

Ithan looked at the chip, then back at him. From her seat right opposite from him, Aresu didn't miss a spec of his movements. Her face was pinched in concentration.

"If information is what you need, I can tell you all I know," he said flatly.

Then his blue eyes fell onto Aresu. Ori knocked on the tabletop with his knuckles to get his attention back, which he was given but slower than expected. Was Ithan being condescending?

"How did you end up being captured by Tirron's men?"

A thought crept up Ori's mind, but he ignored it.

"I was working at the market one morning when my colleagues and I were asked to relocate. We were told it was for better profit and business wasn't very good that year. After discussing the matter amongst each other we decided it was better than leaving Mandalore to hunt for bounties."

"You're lying," blurted out Aresu, legs and arms crossed in an impatient posture. "You're not who you claim to be. Explain yourself."

"Aresu..."

Ori felt his blood travel faster up his arteries, she got up before he was ready to do or say anything else and she somehow got him backed up against the door.

"Leave me with him for five minutes," she said, almost whispering. "Something's not right about him. I think he's-"

"A Jedi?" Surprised at his own impulse, he regretted speaking the word as soon as he heard himself say it.

"No," she replied, perplexed. "Something similar. I just can't put my finger on it."

"Well, I'm certainly not leaving you alone with him now." He pushed her gently out of his way. "Let me do the talking."

Ithan's impassible behavior hadn't changed. Either he was doing a very good job at hiding who he really was, or he couldn't give a womprat's backside about their conversation. Ori was in his element now: retrieving intel from an unknown individual, making clean slate of what he knew and treating the person as a suspect.

"Are you Death Watch?"

It was a test question. He observed his face carefully for signs of deception; a flicker of an eyelid, a nervous smile or a lip bite. Ithan looked at him with calm and confidence before saying no. His forehead was devoid of any lines and his mouth as still as his eyes. Something _was_ wrong.

Aresu fidgeted behind him but Ori silenced her with an index up. He wasn't done.

"How exactly did you come to join the Mandalorian blacksmiths?"

"I learned from observation, and practiced until I was good enough." This time he seemed eager to convince with his answer. But his eyes were always unblinking. He never blinked. "Everybody needs a job. I only picked what I could do best."

From what he had heard and learned in the local culture, being able to forge and work _beskar_ was highly complex. The knowledge was kept fiercely secret and only transmitted over generations from _buir_ to child. A newly converted _mando'ad_ would have very small odds of learning the trade unless he was already an armorer from past experience. By judging his delicate hands, Ithan had nothing of the rugged physique that all others had in the Death Watch plant. He looked more like a race pilot, or a spy.

"Is there any reason for you to lie to us, right now?" Ori asked, trying to sound understanding.

Ithan leaned back in his chair and his hands slid to the edge of the table. This time he seemed pensive and made a little shrug of his shoulders.

"One could remain doubtful of your loyalties as an active officer of the Empire, yet here you are... In a room with what seems to me like an obviously non-Imperial young female wearing _mando_ armor. After you helped me out of forced labor I can't think of a reason to lie to you." He directed his icy gaze onto Aresu. "Why did you say that I'm concealing my identity?"

She leaned on the back of the chair to look straight at him, yet keeping a safe distance.

"Because I can't read you. You're completely blank. It's like your mind is shut and I can't even sense your emotions."

His lips stretched in some sort of disappointed frown and he looked down at his own hands.

"Looks like we struck a nerve there," Ori told his side-kick.

"Well," Aresu began, this time her voice went softer and she adjusted her attitude. "Tell us what's wrong with you, Ithan. How can we work together if we can't understand the way you think?"

"I could tell you, but you wouldn't like it."

She squinted and pursed her lips at him. "Let me try something, then."

Sitting down again, she reached for one of his hands and kept it between her own for a few seconds, taking a couple of deep breaths, then she closed her eyes. Ori came closer to see what was happening.

"As I said," Ithan slowly pulled his hand away. "This must be useless to you because I'm not a biological sentient being, but a human replica. An android."


	6. Chapter 6

At first thinking he was hearing a joke, Ori began scoffing but as he watched Aresu's expression of horror and surprise he revised his reaction. Had they been talking to a droid all along? What kind of programming would make a highly believable artificial intelligence? Who was twisted enough to create such a thing if not with the intention to spy or to harm someone?

Disgusted, Aresu got up from her seat and across the room.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"People find the news rather... upsetting. I decided to keep to myself about my nature unless I'm given no other choice. It's a matter of self-preservation."

"So," Ori scratched his scalp in thought, "in all this time, the Death Watch never found out?"

Ithan turned his gentle face to him again, this time he seemed more robotic now that Ori was aware of it, his facial expressions were a definite giveaway. He – it – could only display a certain range of emotions at one given time.

"When my creator designed me it was with the clear intent to simulate a functioning human body. I can breathe, eat, drink, evacuate waste and even bleed in small amounts. There are no others like me since I was made after the deceased son of the first people who owned me."

"What happened then?"

"When they both died of illness I ran off." Ithan frowned slightly, reminiscing what seemed to be a painful time. "I was being tracked down by people who'd have heard of my creator's work in Human Replica technologies."

"Who here knows about you?" asked Aresu who was more relaxed now.

"Tenja, of course. And her children. They explicitly requested that I never raise questions about my humanity for the sake of the clan."

"Yet, they let you get captured by the Death Watch." She gave Ori a short glance. "Did the Redds make a deal with Joral Tirron? Peace in exchange for you?"

The Human Replica in front of them seemed to take a grave moment to think. Normally, a computerized intelligence would need virtually no reflexion time before coming up with a precise and accurate answer. Ori imagined that Ithan's neural links were using different mathematics, maybe was his electronic brain playing around with emotional factors and behavioral processes before speaking out.

"If that were the case," he finally answered, "we would all be in danger of retaliation. I would have to return to the factory and resume my work as if nothing had happened."

"Are you prepared for that?" Ori asked him.

"As much as I can be, though I wish it wasn't the only course of action."

Aresu was sitting down again, and crossed her legs to regain composure. She looked very much an adult to Ori right that instant.

"What is it that you wish, Ithan?"

"Is the question about my hopes or about what I want to be given in the more practical sense?"

"It can be both."

He blinked, and smiled sadly.

"Before today I wanted to be home with my family. Now I hope that we can successfully free my friends who are still trapped. The wife of my cell mate, Morga'tal, is expecting. The Death Watch will take the newborn from her."

"That's the last thing we want," commented Ori. "Feeding into their ranks."

By the time he realized he'd not been using the empirical _we _but instead including himself with the _mando_'s, Aresu was already giving him a surprised look.

"Pardon my bluntness," replied Ithan, "but what sort of commitments do you have with Mandalorian clans? You seem close to the Skiratas, and my mother apparently accepted you in our house. I just want to know whom you speak for when you express an opinion."

"I'm entitled to my own opinion." He repressed a smug smile, feeling condescending towards a Human replica. "Outside of my Imperial law enforcing work I try my best to support those who aren't treated fairly on their own world. The Skiratas have given me the chance to use my skills for good."

"We could definitely come up with a simple plan to solve our current problems. With your incentives and my blacksmithing abilities we could break a deal with Tirron to have our people freed."

"What if he refuses?"

"We would have to get through his defenses, isolate him from his men and offer him an escape route. It would take a lot of persuasion. An assassination would declare a war that we can't afford."

"You had time to think this over, didn't you?"

"Many have tried to kill Death Watch members without preparation or outside help. We have men inside who are ready to fight would an opportunity present itself... All we have to do is to prevent Tirron or anyone else from calling for back-up."

The plan took a vague form in Ori's head, a dozen of Mandalorians running a sneak attack on the building, getting to its power supply and giving weapons to the slaves, turning them into outraged fighting machines. He could imagine Tirron's unimpressed face turning to horror as he would subdue him into exile. Such an operation would allow for Ori to arrest a few Death Watch men under the false grounds of sabotaging their own base and selling intel to the insurgents.

While he was day-dreaming, Aresu had gotten up and picked his datachip from the desk.

"Mind if I have a quick read myself when you're done with it?" she said, her eyes smiling at the prospect of seeing action.

"To do what, exactly?" Ori wasn't confident about her field skills. He'd seen her indoors too often.

"To absorb and study. I'll get better orientation when I know what everything actually looks like. When you're inside I can help you from a safe location, it's called-"

"Remote viewing," finished Ithan.

Ori looked at both of them. Aresu seemed delighted that someone was acknowledging her powers. Ithan smiled back at her, Ori thought it was simply a mimetic.

"But why wouldn't you join the operation, Aresu?" asked Ithan. "A Jedi would be of great help, especially when the moment will come to confront the enemy face-to-face."

He almost smirked at the word _Jedi_, knowing that Aresu was still a Padawan when she was picked up from Taris three years in the past and had never completed her training since.

"Being a fugitive doesn't help," she softly said, a resigned tone in her bitter voice. "I can get my _buir_ to support you there. He's way more powerful than I am and he'd feel better knowing that I'm not putting myself at risk."

She put the chip back down and stuck her thumbs in her belt.

"I've never seen a Jedi fight, not with my own eyes." Ithan took the chip and put it in his pocket. "If your father can help us then I will have to take your word for it."

"Well, I don't know who else will be there but I hope you can wrangle some good warriors at your side." She looked over at Ori. "What will _you_ do?"

While he didn't appreciate her tone, she did raise a good question.

"An operation like this needs a back-up plan or a distraction. I can use a few favors up the ranks to flag Tirron as an insurgent which would be enough to order a shutdown."

"But then," said Ithan skeptically, "the Imperials would take over and what of our people? They wouldn't be granted their freedom so easily if someone else keeps the business intact."

Ithan spoke true and it was the sad reality that _beskar_ produced in any way was good enough for the Empire. Ori raised his eyebrows and tapped an index finger against his mouth.

"Leave that part to me."

His instinct told him that he was on the right track with this plan. Speaking another word about it felt like compromising it already. It was good that no other person was in the room to give misled input or try to shatter his resolve. Mandalorians were ruthless with non-_mando_'s. _Aruetti, _as they were called, especially when it came to combat tactics and war strategies. At least, Ori thought, he would have one of them on their side.

Outside in the middle of the night, Ori stood on the deck of the building's backyard. The cool, quiet air helped clear his mind of the incessant worries surrounding the events to come. Even though he wanted out of his armor to lay down in a real bed, having to go back inside that house with people judging him and bothering him with questions was an inconvenience. He thought about returning to base for the night. He could give up on the Mandalorians and resume his active duty with the Empire. He would let down the Redds, the Skiratas, and himself.

He heard the backdoor hissing open and Aresu came into view. She wore her body coveralls without the _beskar_ plates on them, apparently getting ready to sleep.

"What do you make of this Ithan?" he asked her.

She yawned. "Don't you want to go to sleep and continue chatting in the morning? I'm exhausted."

"From doing what?"

"Being up all day, that's what."

Ori internally laughed, arms folded against his chest plate. He had never seen her in action as a Jedi or a combatant, somehow he didn't see her fit the profile. It was the same for her foster mother, as a matter of fact. Runa was far from a warrior, and her calm, carefree attitude could have transferred onto Aresu.

"He's creepy," she answered, eyes lost in the dark. "I can't sense his presence in the Force so my opinion is no better than yours. When I listen to him it's like I don't have any powers, and I don't like that."

"You did well, back there," he said to cheer her up.

"You mean that I didn't embarrass you."

"No, you certainly didn't. Better than that: you managed to impress an android."

"How is that any kind of achievement?"

He shrugged. "Machines don't think, droids probably seem like they do, but Ithan has to be some sort of super machine-man hybrid. Makes you wonder how many others are among us... in the galaxy, passing as ordinary people."

"And why would they pretend to be ordinary? There's nothing normal about Ithan."

"From your _Jedi_ point of view, maybe. But this is Mandalore, and everyone here is a little crazy so I think he fits right in."

Silence settled between them for a moment until Aresu broke it.

"Do you think I would fit in?"

"Sure." He wanted to shrug again when he noted that she wanted a serious answer. "You're crazy enough. But do you really want to?"

He saw her working in the market, fixing things, becoming a pilot for a civilian space liner or getting a position in a government as a political advisor. He hoped she would find something that suited her, not war. She rubbed sleep from her eyelids and responded with a dull voice.

"Nobody really fits in, I guess. That's why they all wear full body armor. It's all in the uniform." She rapped her knuckles on his left forearm. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"Sure." He patted her head, perhaps more affectionately than he'd intended. "Good night."

* * *

She woke up feeling tired at the sounds of footsteps outside the bedroom door. A look at the chrono on the night table told her it was much later than she'd wanted to wake. At this time, people were usually busy with their day-to-day work. Getting up and dressed as fast as she could, the conversations with Ori and Ithan came back to her, weighed on her mind for a while. Aresu put her belt on with the comlink clipped in the utility pouch. She wasn't going to call her foster parents about the things she discovered. In order to have something to say, she needed something to actually happen first.

The android scared her more than she cared to admit. When his eyes landed on her it was difficult to just brush it off as a machine. He actually knew things about Force-sensitivity and seemed curious about her. Then again, she was used to raising many eyebrows, being the last living Korunnai and a young woman with no apparent husband at her side. Having Bardan protecting her was a nice change from the constant running and fighting against predators of all kinds. But, so far, no one had figured out that she was trained in the Force. Ithan surely had encountered Jedi before, passing as a normal person he'd had to come up with a logical explanation as to why he had no Force imprint. He had no soul.

Aresu saw him when she got to the lounge to find Ori. She shuddered. People were having breakfast in that large room in which she saw a buffet table with all sorts of meals and foods. It was noisy, and people took notice of her as they passed on the word and turned around to look at her. She much preferred to eat alone in her quarters.

There was fresh caf and hot beverages, she grabbed a cup and caught a motion from the corner of her eye. A white-armored shoulder and arm waving at her. _Crap_, she thought. She took a small plate and added a pastry to her breakfast meal before joining Ori's table. Ithan was sitting a few seats away and he nodded to her with a smile. She pinched her lips, smiling back politely.

"Slept late?" Ori asked her while handing her the sugar and milk.

"I don't like crowds." Might as well get that out of the way.

"Shoulda told me, we could have eaten outside." He gave her a slice of yellow spongy cake. "Stuff your face, it's gonna be a long day."

She saw how he looked at her arms. They were skinny, not as skinny as they used to be when she was last on Taris, but she was still growing into adulthood after all. The cake was compact with sweet crushed nuts and cream and it was delicious.

They later crossed paths with Tenja who took Ori in her office while they discussed operations with her son and daughter. Aresu was asked to sit that one out. Knowing less about the battle plans could save her life if she ever got interrogated.

Wandering the building she crossed paths with Mandalorian men in armor who eyed her cautiously and went on without stopping her or saying a word. What time she spent around the Skirata clan taught her to give herself a purposeful air and no one would dare get in her business. Also, there were so many rescues and young people adopted into the clans that she probably counted as just one of the hopeful strays hanging around the mercs.

She let herself be guided by her instincts – the Force, as it were – following a series of corridors until she found a staircase, then a strange door with no room label. It opened as she approached her hand, canceling out the security systems, one of the first tricks Bardan had taught her. Lights flickered on and her mouth gaped.

The walls were shelved with rows of blasters, rifles, pistols, carbines... And glass-topped tables were filled with what looked like explosives, detonators, traps and mines. It was the most neatly-kept armory she had ever seen. Entering, she inspected the arsenal with a morbid fascination. Scenes of battle between the Republic and Separatist forces came to her mind's eye. She remembered her old master, then Taris...

"Good morning."

She startled, so surprised that her reflex mechanism kicked in. Within a second, her lightsaber was in both her hands, lit up and humming menacingly.

Facing her, hands up and equally surprised was Ithan. He'd sneaked up on her without raising the slightest suspicion on her part.

"How long have you been there?" she said, upset. The tip of her purple light blade was right under his nose.

"I followed you from the lounge area. Please, I'm not here to rat."

Aresu didn't lower her guard. If someone had sent him to watch her movements then she wasn't going to let them have away with it.

"During the war, we destroyed machines all the time. I won't hesitate... Tell me why you're following me."

He took a step backward, hands still up at his sides. Somehow, his calm face looked worried.

"I need your help. Talking to you in front of eavesdroppers wasn't an option, I had to find you in a secluded space."

She tightened her grip around the saber hilt. The term "secluded" didn't appeal to her at all and she wanted to be out of there really fast, and alert Ori. Not having any hints from her Force senses really made her doubt her natural perceptions. Was he telling the truth?

"Help with what?"

"To get off this planet. Once the rescue mission is complete and everyone is safe I will have to leave. This identity has been compromised. Do you know how much a synthetic human unit costs?"

"I don't care and I can't help you. I don't even own a speeder bike."

"But you know someone who has access to ships. And security clearances for Imperial checkpoints."

"What tells me that you're not trying to get away from something and working for the other side?"

"You may be distrusting now but when this is over and when you'll have proof of what I say, can I have your word that you won't tell the clans about my plan?"

Ithan wanted a way out. Somehow she couldn't stop her mind from running other scenarios and included treachery everywhere.

"Please," he said again, "before someone arrives, put away your weapon."

She slowly complied and peered into his eyes. For a moment, she'd sworn there was a slight trembling around them.

"Thank you."

"You can't sneak up on me like you did," she said, berating him as the machine he really was. "Next time you might lose something valuable."

"Let's avoid that."

Aresu raised a hand at him. "Just stay away from me, Ithan."

But he was in the way when she wanted to leave the armory and having him in her trail again was something she couldn't take.

"I won't say anything about this," she added. "Promise."

He smiled, nodded and turned back with one last look at her. Aresu hated him for how frustrated he made her feel, that she couldn't read his feelings or his intentions. His face sent her signals that she couldn't translate.

Back upstairs and next to her room in the hallway she met Ori, apparently still talking to Tenja. Their tones were hushed and their eyes shifted away from each other. They were secretive, and worried. Aresu sensed that Tenja was ashamed of something, but couldn't put her finger on it. Aresu approached them.

"What's the matter?" Ori said.

She probably still looked perplexed by Ithan's confession earlier.

"Don't put Ithan in the rescue team."

"Why?"

Tenja glared at her, Aresu tried to ignore it.

"I heard him talk about leaving Mandalore after the mission. Who knows what else he's preparing."

She went with her gut, placing her trust in those she could figure out instantly and letting them judge the situation.

"Ithan said that?" asked Tenja in disbelief. "To whom?"

"No one in particular..."

"Spit it out, young lady. You don't put words in someone's mouth and expect no consequences."

What would she do to Ithan once she found out the truth? She realized, too late, that she had clammed up and Tenja stormed off, earnestly striding down the hallway. Ori began to follow, but stopped and grabbed her arm.

"Why did you say that?" He was alarmed, she'd never seen him like this before.

"It was important," she said, yanking her arm away. "Touch me again and you'll regret it."

"I doubt that, you're going back to the Skiratas."

Not curious to see if he would make that last statement become fact, Aresu bolted downstairs after Tenja. After looking in the dining area, the lounge, the kitchen, she saw two men and the clan matriarch circle Ithan in the entrance lobby. Words were said that she didn't hear, and they lead him down the corridor and into a room opposite the manager's office. Tenja turned around and faced her.

"Get in. If he gets out of control we might need your help, Jedi."

There was a ruckus of chairs and tools falling to the floor. Aresu rushed in and shockingly watched two armored men trying to pin down an unprotected, unarmed man over a medical table. There were medical wares and knives scattered all around.

"Strap him down," commanded Tenja as she picked up a scalpel. "Aresu, do whatever you do so that he stops moving."

"What are you gonna do to him?" she asked in horror.

Ithan, his face red with an access of fear and rage, looked over his shoulder. His voice was heart-wrecking.

"Please, don't do that. Please!"

But Tenja didn't listen, and almost with no remorse she ripped open the back of his shirt, raised the knife and began to dig in the synthetic skin. Aresu couldn't help herself but to watch with morbid amazement while Ithan let out a cry of pain. Dark, red blood started seeping from the cut as Tenja ran the scalpel down his spine.

"What are you doing!" she heard herself cry, feeling her eyes well up.

"If what you said is true, then we need to deactivate him. We can't run the risk of seeing him fly back to Deathwatch."

She kept cutting, and in what appeared to be an excruciatingly painful expression, Ithan looked at Aresu.

"You promised me," he softly said, cringing his teeth. Tears were flowing down his face.

"I'm sorry," Aresu whispered.

His skin and flesh was lifted up and opened like a curtain to reveal bionic circuitry and two large battery cells. She wanted to throw up. And Ithan had stopped fighting, his eyes were shut tight and he breathed heavily.

"_Buir_," he said.

Tenja took a moment and replied. "Yes, _ad'ika_."

"I'm scared... Don't make me die."

She coldly grabbed a wire within his spine and began twisting a junction.

"It's okay."

Aresu wouldn't have screamed for her to stop if Ithan hadn't been given the perfect resemblance of a biological human being. He even bled, _a lot_, and she felt powerless just as she was unable to sense his presence. When his head hung motionless on the hospital bed, the Mandalorians left the room, taking Aresu outside with them and she fought to get out of their steel grip. Only when they were slammed against the walls did she realize that she'd used the Force to defend herself.

"Don't touch me," she told them.

Tenja had her blaster pistol in hand, holding her at the end of her barrel.

"You're not my kid, and this is my house."

Searching for Ori, Aresu only found a closed door with the two Mandalorians guarding it, also wielding their guns, directed at her face.

"What did you do to him?" she asked Tenja.

"I unplugged him. What you said was evidence that he's been compromised."

"How could you be so sure? Has it happened before?"

Doubt filled the woman's heart as she was mustering a reply. Her eyes danced from Aresu to Ithan's inanimate body. It was grief.

"The moment I found out he was a droid I had to prepare for this. I've erased his memory chip... And he tried to get you on-board with him."

"Because he knew you would react that way." She couldn't control her voice which sounded more dramatic than she liked. "I told you because I believed you were reasonable... Obviously, I was wrong."

"Shut up, you have no idea what you're talking about. You should've followed your parents and never got yourself involved. You can't understand us... You are _aruetyc_."

The word for infidel or outsider. Aresu would have felt hurt to be called that, but now she was glad not to be part of such a brutal, insensitive bunch. Ithan knew he'd needed a way out eventually. How could anyone such as him be accepted if people knew the truth?

They made sure she wouldn't get out on her own, locked the medical room with her inside and she found herself with the messy corpse of Ithan, over a pool of blood on the floor. Aresu, breathing heavily as her stomach couldn't take the revolting smell of iron, pulled the skin over the bare metallic spine and circuitry that composed Ithan's skeleton and nervous system. He had veins, some were red, others were clear or white. She didn't want to see it anymore. As if it were an actual person, she covered him with a blanket and gently closed the eyelids over his blue eyes. Using her sleeve she tried to clean blood stains off his face, barely containing a sob. How could a machine make her feel this way?

Minutes passed, and maybe an hour went by as she sat on the floor with her knees propped under her chin. She was used to being held in seclusion, but this was different. If word got out that a Jedi was trying to let a human replica escape from Mandalore, she could wave her life goodbye. Strangely enough she cared too much about Bardan and Runa to burden them any further, she would go back to her old lifestyle. If anyone tried to get in her way they would taste of her lightsaber.

The door opened without a warning and people came in. She had expected Tenja or any of the Redd clan members, even Ori for all it mattered, but instead she saw Bardan rushing in, helmet off, blaster carbine armed as he quickly scanned the room. He found her and looked over at the corpse on the table. Runa soon followed, also in her Mandalorian armor.

"What the freck..."

Aresu got up and pulled the blanket from Ithan to show them his wounds, and what the torn up skin was covering instead of flesh.

"It's Ithan," she said with a breathy voice. "He's a human replica droid. Tenja butchered him to get the data from the factory when she thought he was going to use me against her."

Deeply confused and puzzled, Bardan got over the initial shock and looked over Ithan's body.

"Is there anything to do here?" he asked, visibly at a loss.

"I don't know."

He scrambled Runa and Ori and motioned for Aresu to stay where she was.

"Where is your lightsaber?"

Checking the small of her back where she would keep her weapon, Aresu realized with shock that she hadn't drawn her lightsaber to come to Ithan's defense. Or even her own.

"It's safe. No one saw it." And if Ithan's memory was gone, she might as well never had shown it to him either.

Looking at the droid, then at Runa, Bardan was visibly weighing his options. Runa rubbed her chin in thought.

"Go find Tenja," she told Bardan. "Let me clean him up."

She wasn't afraid of blood or getting her hands dirty. Aresu watched Runa use a medical stapling gun to patch up the brutally torn flesh on Ithan's back, leaving room to access the memory slot and power switch.

Aresu watched with tired detachment, trying to believe that this was all a bad dream and it would be over soon.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Warning for mushy scene at the end**_

She woke up in a familiar room, remembering a silent trip through the plains and the desert. But after the events of that morning she had needed to sleep. Leaving her quarters at the hideout bunker, she joined the people talking in muffled tones in the medical bay. It wasn't equipped enough for extensive surgery but sufficed for blaster wounds and quick physical scanning.

There was the doctor Mij Gilamar, Ori and Runa gathered around the medical table where sat someone she didn't expect to see alive and conscious. _Alive_ was an overstatement.

"...We've aborted our joint operation with your clan," said Runa. "They've gathered everything they needed to handle the situation themselves."

Ithan, sitting in his blood-stained clothing, looked up at her with concern then his eyes widened as he saw Aresu come in. So, he remembered her?

"Did they clearly say that they no longer needed me?" he asked.

"I don't know, it was Bardan who negotiated your release."

The android didn't seem as relieved as he ought to appear, almost looking disappointed. Aresu wanted to talk to him privately again, knowing that this change of plans was interfering with his intentions to leave the planet.

Ori turned to look at her, gesturing to follow him in the hallway. Once out of earshot from the medical room he took a deep breath, holding his Stormtrooper helmet under his left arm.

"Listen. Whatever you heard, and whatever you may have believed we don't blame you for talking. You thought you were doing the right thing and that's what matters here."

She didn't need to hear his lessons, she knew what she did.

"How is he even here?"

"We convinced Tenja that if Ithan needed to be anywhere it should be under my watch, and certainly not back with his clan. She extracted the data from his memory chip and gave it back to us... without erasing anything from it."

"That's good, then."

"He will have to stay here until I come up with a plan to liberate him from Death Watch and Imperial custody." He put a gloved hand on her shoulder with caution. "Are you alright keeping an eye on him in the mean time?"

"Sure, whatever." She gave a furtive look backwards to see what they were doing to Ithan. "Are we going to help him escape, too?"

"That's not my decision," he answered her, unconvinced that her question was serious. "Technically he doesn't belong to anyone and we may need him around eventually."

Mij Gilamar walked out followed by Runa. The older doctor let out a sigh, ruffling his sandy grey hair that almost matched his gold-colored armor.

"All I have to say is that you're all going to be very rich if you decide to sell it."

"Him," rectified Runa. "It's not just a droid with a price tag, it's a synthetic human."

"I would be very interested in exploring the depths of his intellect," mused the scientist. "That kind of technology could benefit us in so many ways..."

Ori cleared his throat, losing patience.

"I'm sure the Redd clan had the same idea."

"Let's not get ourselves carried away," Runa said with a nod. "They will want to retrieve him eventually."

Aresu needed to interfere in their little brainstorming session.

"Unless we can prove that he no longer wants to be part of their clan, and for that we have to know how self-aware he really is."

She turned her attention to Gilamar who smiled back at her enthusiastically.

"I will bring the Nulls up to speed, they'll know how to plug into his electronic psyche."

Walking them out to the speeder hangar, she waved goodbye to the Stormtrooper who had to get the Empire off their backs, the Mandalorian foster mother on her way to pick up Bardan from Enceri, and the combat medic with a new mission to study their latest guest.

Aresu walked in on Ithan trying to clean his bloodied and torn-up shirt in the medical sink, his injured back showing a nasty T-shaped scar all along his spine.

"We need to get you cleaned up," she said, feeling like she was talking to a child. "Come on, I'll show you the sanitaries."

Without a word he followed her, averting his eyes every time she studied his face, as he knew the sight of him covered in dried blood was upsetting her. But she was angry at the fact that she had to take care of Ithan. When he uncovered himself completely to get in the shower she would have wanted Ori, or even Gilamar to be there instead. She hurriedly picked up the bloodied clothes and her eyes lingered, curious, to see how accurately the android was made. Telling herself that she had to check if he didn't have other injuries she needed to know about, his very realistic – yet, synthetically perfect – attributes made her feel confused. He even had some pubic hair. He caught her watching as the trails of red liquid ran down his skin, twirling into the shower drain.

"I'm sorry," she shyly said, scrambling out towards the laundry room.

She let the washing device spin and sat in front of it for a while, unable to erase the scene from her mind. Did she have to cook for him? Would he need to use the refreshers like everyone else? Did he feel as awkward as she did when she saw him naked? Was he... entirely _functional_?

She cursed her inability to sense his presence, more importantly his intentions. After setting an assortment of clean male clothing for him outside the showers, she made a checklist of the rations, anything they were close to running out of, as an excuse to get out of the bunker. She couldn't think of staying all day confined with a droid – a self-aware one at that – that had just been through a traumatic experience. She got to her comlink in her room and attempted to contact the only person who could answer her questions.

"Dad," she called, aware that her avoidance of _mando'a_ was going to shock more than one in the clan. "Ithan is here."

There was latency or maybe she had given the impression that something was wrong.

"I know, Aresu."

She sighed, more out of tiredness than relief. "What am I supposed to do here?" she asked. "Are we stealing him away from the Redds?"

"They no longer want him in their clan," said Bardan. "Tenja finally figured out that he wasn't an object."

"She still acted like he was her son."

"Are you worried to be alone with him, _ad'ika_?"

"A little bit." Looking over her shoulder, checking if there was anyone outside her door she'd kept open. She tried to imagine the soothing presence of her foster parent, with his ability to understand and sense everything she felt. "He hasn't done or said anything to me yet. Can you come over?"

"I'm with Kal right now, but I'll try... The good news is that without an assault planned against Imperial assets we'll be left alone. The Redds are still going to do something about the factory, though."

"But Dad... They're _mando_, and who else wears _mando_ armor? The Empire doesn't care about clan names."

She heard cautious, soft footsteps in the hallway. Leaning forward, she saw him peering in to see her. Bardan's voice murmured bitterly.

"Maybe Mandalore is no longer safe for us. We should consider leaving camp while it's still possible and nothing is tying us down."

The expression on Ithan's face shifted from glum to hopeful as he heard the words coming from her handset.

"I'll think about it."

There was a pause, and she looked back at the android with apprehension.

"Be safe, Aresu."

"Bye Dad. You too."

She put her comlink away and stood up, if only to pressure Ithan to stay away from her quarters.

"What is it?" she asked, locking the door behind her.

"I wanted to thank you for your hospitality," he politely replied, his eyes shifting hesitantly from her eyes to her hands. "You were speaking about leaving the planet. Does that happen often?"

"Not really." She made her way to the kitchen area, started the kettle to warm up some tea. "Do you have a destination in mind?"

So that was how it was going to be, she thought. Investigating his plans, if he had any, and analyzing whether or not he would become harmful to her.

"From as far away from the Empire as I can," he replied, sitting at the bar. "Like all matters of safety I would rather you not know where I'm headed exactly. You have yourself to look after."

The hissing of the boiling water pot was the only sound for a moment. She grabbed the box of powdered tea and two cups.

"Can you drink this?"

Brow furrowed he examined the contained before nodding.

"You must think that I have no need for sustenance which is true," he commented as she prepared the beverages. "My battery cells replenish during downtime, when I go to sleep, and I recycle my fluids once every two months if I haven't absorbed any liquids during that period."

Aresu listened but did not care to retain the information he gave her. There was no way she would have to take care of him for over two months. She served the tea and added sweetener to her cup.

"What are you going to do now without a clan?"

"What anyone else would do in my situation. Survive, stay low. Always be on the move."

It used to be her motto, only until three years ago when Bardan and Runa found her in the slums of Taris. She had grown used to that lifestyle because of the freedom, the absence of directives and not having to depend on anyone. That was the past, however...

"Did you like having a family here? Or was it just people who helped you get what you wanted?"

Tasting the warm tea, he put his cup down and looked right at her.

"I had a family when I was first... _activated_. My parents, even if their real son had died long ago. They treated me like I was no different, they fully accepted me and refused to look at my imperfections. I was _their_ son."

"Being adopted into a Mandalorian clan is no different," she said, suddenly involved in the discussion. "They take you in, help you grow strong and let you be whoever you want to be. When Bardan found me he could have tried to turn me into a Jedi, or to repress all of my abilities... Instead, he let me choose my own path."

His defying glare told her that things went otherwise for him.

"Why do you not call your father _buir_?"

"I don't like following traditions," she replied.

"Fair enough." He turned his head to observe the place around them. "And this is your home?"

No, it wasn't by far. Aresu's home was aboard Runa's ship, on Ord Mantell with her grand-parents or in Bardan's old house which was destroyed, years ago.

"I stay here to guard the armory," she finally said. "This is not where I live. I hide here."

Unable to contain her emotions, she tightly folded her arms against her breasts, emptied her cup and put it into the washer.

"Have I upset you?" he asked, an air of genuine concern on his spotless face.

"It's not your fault," she answered.

He sank down his tea and climbed down from his chair, walked near her to wash his cup. Being near him gave her a strange feeling of danger, having to rely on her sight, her sense of smell and touch to locate him. She had ignored those instincts for too long and now it was hard to reconcile with them.

"I hope you're allowed to come and go from this place as you please," he said, drying his hands with the nearest towel. "There are many safe havens on Mandalore, especially for younger people."

"Well, I wouldn't know about them," she said angrily. "I'd rather stay here if going out means hiding who I am or having to explain to everyone why my home planet no longer exists."

He froze, clenched and unclenched a fist as he looked down at her. Aresu bit her lips, having no idea what he was going to do next, she felt her heart beating faster.

"I'm really sorry," he told her. "Do you have friends who visit, or other family members?"

"It's just the clan, sometimes Ori but he's more like a babysitter."

There was no way she would tell him how lonely she felt, how desperately in need of company she was sometimes. She would keep him at arms length, away from her misery, _if_ he was a living and breathing person. And she almost got fooled. Aresu looked him in the eye and took a deep breath.

"I don't have any friends," she said, feeling relieved as she spoke, letting her eyes tear up. "It's just me down here and sometimes I wish I could just deactivate between visits... Sometimes, I wish I didn't exist at all."

Whatever worked like empathy made Ithan step forward to hold her in his arms, where she let herself go and sobbed freely.

_He's not human_, she told herself,_ he's not human. He's a machine._

A breathing, talking, warm and understanding machine. She looked up at his face and met a reassuring smile. His hands touched her face, wiping tears from under her eyes.

"This is not the path you chose," he told her, his voice almost a whisper. "You don't have to stay where you don't want to be."

He was close, too close. Aresu had never been in such a tight embrace with anyone in her life. Did he know how he made her feel? She didn't want to push him away and it was nothing like her. It was _nice_ not to feel scared or threatened... or alone. Tentatively, she caressed his face, discovering that his skin was even softer than hers, and he smiled again. Aresu moved away from the counter and reached for his face, parting her lips slightly.

They were just about to touch when a door hiss interrupted the moment. She gasped, almost kicked out of a trance, and used her hands to rapidly dry her face. Ithan, instantly calm and earnest in attitude, walked out of the kitchen to see who had entered. It was Bardan, Runa followed.

"We bought food," he said before looking up. "Hey."

He stopped, removed his helmet and gave them both a long, suspicious look. Aresu panicked, he _knew_ something almost happened. She was still shaking.

"What's going on?" Runa asked, herself getting a hint of the situation.

"We were just talking about you," said Ithan. "I shared my intentions of leaving the planet, and how we could all leave together."

Bardan, lowering his brow, directed his attention on Aresu.

"It's an important question, I have to admit." He looked at Runa then turned to Ithan. "Can I consult my wife about this first?"

They picked up the bags of groceries and moved to the kitchen. Ithan stayed in the lobby area, right next to the speeder hangar. Unable to move and confused, Aresu watched Bardan and Runa as they began talking in hushed tones. It lasted for minutes.

"Are you okay?" Ithan asked, stepping closer.

"They never leave me out of their conversations," she thought out loud, looking in their direction as if she knew exactly what they were _consulting_ about. "They're upset and tired."

He let out a drawn out sigh. Then he smiled.

"Maybe it's not all bad. Have faith."

Runa returned to them, her eyes riveted on Ithan, but she looked optimistic.

"Come on, we're gonna make dinner. Ithan, are you any good with an oven?"

The dinner was actually enjoyable, Aresu couldn't tell the last time she had smiled, laughed or shared anything around a table. Bardan actually made no mention of the day's past events, only saying that Ori would have to make up for lost time with his garrison. Ithan had helped making nut-bread and the _uj_ cake for dessert. They had brought icy blue milk from the market which Aresu had only had a few times before. Near the end, Bardan expressed his intentions to study Ithan from a metaphysical standpoint, explaining that if an object showed intent, compassion and freewill, it had a place in the Force. They went on talking about that philosophy while Runa began doing the washing up with Aresu.

"We should do this more often," she said, clearing the dishes. "If you decide to stay, this would be your home... Or you could leave and find another place."

"Is that what you and Bardan have been talking about?"

Her foster mother looked in the distance in front of her, running hot water on the plates.

"We were talking about you. I know you may resent us for having you cooped up for so long, but you know that it was for the best."

"That's why I never complained." So far.

"Even though you're only seventeen," Runa smiled sadly, "sometimes you're wiser than I am. I really regret not having been there more often for you."

Feeling her face decomposing, Aresu extended her arms and hugged her, and was hugged in return.

"Don't say that," she told Runa. "I'll be fine."

"You know..." Runa hesitated, looking back towards the table where the men were talking. "If Ithan wasn't _synthetic_ I would have immediately adopted him. He would make a charming young man."

Aresu pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and carefully picked her words.

"What if he didn't have to be different?" she suggested. "What if he was exactly what he was created to be, but instead of being born biologically, he was engineered... Kind of like the Republic clone troopers. Then, we wouldn't have to treat him with special care, or make things seem awkward."

Runa looked back at her, suspicious.

"Was there something going on right before we arrived?"

Blushing, there was nothing Aresu could say or deny. She crossed her arms and bit her lips, which was way more body language than she'd liked to express.

"We were talking," she answered. "He's a really good listener."

"It's alright," Runa told her, smiling kindly. "You need a friend. Might as well make it a man who won't ever be a victim of his hormones or greed... You get the idea."

Shocked to hear such openness in the conversation surrounding her love life, Aresu didn't dare to continue talking. The evening ended slowly with Runa and Bardan retreating to the hangar, saying they had to take care of business with Mij Gilamar. But Aresu understood now that they left her alone on purpose. Because, somehow, they had figured out that she would want it this time.

She took a while to make up her mind about the ways to finish her _talk_ with Ithan. He was sitting on the couch, playing around with a handheld data pad, scrolling through text and diagrams like it was his job.

"The dinner went well," she opened, feeling silly already.

"Yes, it did." He turned off his device and stood to look at her. "I'm glad I was able to bond with your family."

"Yeah, about that... I think they intend for you to stick around."

"I suspected as much," he nodded. "But do you share their opinion? After all, if I'm not assigned any tasks I would end up spending most of my time with you."

Embarrassed at her uncontrolled smile, she ran a nervous hand through her hair.

"Well, it's going to be weird... Me being a Force-sensitive, you a _beskar_ worker fugitive. I don't know."

He chuckled at her humor and there wasn't a trace left of all the pain and agony he had experienced that morning. Remembering his ordeal, she had to arrange a space for him to rest.

"Do you need to go to sleep? I can fix up a room for you real quick."

"I can actually sit here, if that's alright." He motioned at the couch.

She hated the idea of him sitting straight up like a mannequin, not awake but not asleep either. If anyone were to step inside and find him there it would create such a fuss.

"I'd rather you sit where I can keep an eye on you."

Perplexed, he followed her where she showed him his sleeping spot. Not really thinking and not planning too long in advance, Aresu led him to her room, directing him to a seat next to her bed.

"Of course, if it doesn't qualify for you then you can go wherever you want."

He brought his hands up in apology.

"No, no. It's perfect." He turned towards her and tried to express contained happiness, which looked like a sad attempt at flattery. "I'm sorry... I know it may seem uncomfortable to have me around, so I am not used to sharing close quarters with people."

Worried that she might appear too trusting with him, as opposed to her paranoid attitude with most people, she shrugged and rolled her eyes away.

"Do you ever pretend to be human?" she risked asking. She sat down on the edge of her bed and he took his seat in front of her. "Like when you eat with us. Did you ever... sleep with someone?"

His eyes widened for a second, and he looked down in shame. It took so long for him to muster a reply that she changed her mind and decided to switch to another subject.

"Things happened once," he said. "I was scared to disobey and was too naïve to understand the situation."

When Tenja and her men had pinned him down to cut his back open he had barely struggled to defend himself. Aresu frowned at the memory. Perhaps it was in his programming to endure what humans did to him, as long as it wouldn't destroy him completely... She thought about what he looked like, beneath the clothes and how someone with a twisted mind would want to use him.

"I won't let anyone else harm you," she said, feeling guilty. "I had no idea that you _felt_ so much."

He smiled but his face was still generally sad.

"I wish I could erase part of my memory, something that can only be done from an external command, or physical extraction. The bad memories will stay active, unless I change them with better versions of the same experience."

"That's pretty much how the human brain works," she agreed. "It took me years to stop thinking about my homeless life."

And it was still tough work to get out of her loneliness. When she got her boots off to get to bed she couldn't stand having to lay there by herself.

"Would you like to lay beside me for a while?" she asked him, studying his reaction more than her own fears. "Only if you want to."

It did seem weird that he would sit over there. She snuggled against his side as soon as he got on the mattress, letting her guard down as if none of it would matter in the morning. Face-to-face, he kissed her, and she lost all control. At first surprised by the tastelessness of his lips, Aresu found herself attempting to respond with a strange intensity. Why was she giving in so quickly? Was he not going to be with her from now on?

His shirt was in the way of her discovering his strong body, so she got rid of it, mindful of the scars in his back. His warmth and the sound of his artificial yet loud heartbeat made her head spin but she kept her lips joined to his. Ithan was on top of her now, softly caressing her and she shuddered uncontrollably, raising her body temperature. Why was she wearing clothes and why did they take so long to remove?

She was sweating, panting with anticipation and her own smell got her confused, because he had none. But she felt happy and safe with Ithan, even though every one of his moves triggered a mix of fear and excitement. This went on for a while and she got tired, calming herself down with slow breathing. She laid naked beneath him as he stared at her, taking it all in as if she was a piece of artwork. Aresu smiled and touched his abdomen, her dark-skinned fingers running down his muscles until they met his trousers. Did he know how much she wanted it to happen?

He kissed her again with a passion she'd never suspected, feeling him in places she'd never let anyone close to. Taris was so far away now, she was no longer fourteen and he was her friend. She bit her lips, looking at the erect organ she'd first seen in the bathroom and she shifted under him so he could get the best angle into her, breathing out slowly. She looked up at him, seeing the face of a man and not a machine. His look was concerned but at peace.

For what seemed like hours she let him explore her, becoming more and more at ease with both their bodies as they adjusted over time. She saw herself as another person, someone with no insecurities whatsoever, lying back and enjoying the experience. Sometimes, she made the effort to be aware of what was hidden under the layers of skin, flesh and blood, and it only fed into her excitement. There was never a question of being unsafe, or unreasonable, even when it got messier than she wished. His mention of replenishing fluids took all of its meaning then. Eventually her fantasy ended when he stopped to rest. Exhausted, she caught her breath in his arms while he seemed to switch to an idle phase. Aresu kissed him on the neck and he opened his eyes.

"You should sleep," he said, still holding her hand against his chest.

"I could, but I wanted to know how you felt."

His lips stretched to a satisfied smile as he looked up to the permacrete ceiling.

"Good," he simply answered. "What about you?"

She didn't feel any different as a person, but she did find that she was more comfortable in her own skin.

"I'm alright," she said, then added with a sleepy voice, "I don't want you to phase out on me."

The idea of sleeping against an inert body, a mass of metal, wires, fake flesh and blood, almost made her sick. She needed to hear his pulse, feel his warmth and hear his breath at all times.

"Then I'll wait for you to fall asleep first," he whispered.


End file.
